Change of Faith
by Thisbe Carstairs OC
Summary: Clary was raised by her parents with her older brother until one day she and her mother left. Suddenly, Clary is a normal teenager living with a busy mom. That is, until someone starts looking for her, intent on getting her back in their arms.
1. Chapter 1

_Yay! My first fic! Lemme know what you think!_

 _Summary: Clary and Sebastian/Jonathan were raised together by their father and mother until Jocelyn suddenly leaves, taking young Clary with her._

Chapter One

Clary sat on the front steps of the brownstone that she lived in with her mom, texting Simon. He was on his way, dealing with the struggles of the subway. Jocelyn was inside working on a painting, as always. She was great as far as mom's went, always pretty chill, even though she was kind of paraniod. Brooklyn was the ninth place they'd lived since Clary was twelve, and she was now almost sixteen. Her mom always said the moving was for the art market, but before and after a move she was always super nervous always strict, which disipated after a week or so.

Because of the frequent moves, Clary had been doing online school, which was how she'd met Simon. They'd been Internet friends since they were twelve, and had met in person only once before when Simons family (it was just him, his mom, and his sister) had visited Disneyland and Clary and her mom had been living in LA. They'd been thirteen then, and had spent the whole time talking about books and games.

And now, three years later, they were about to meet again.

Jocelyn had a 'sort of not really' date with this guy Luke that she'd know from 'oh honey it was before you were born', so Clary and Simon were going to hit up Midtown Comics, the Record Store, and then Java Jones. Apparently they were having a poetry reading there, and one of the guys from his band was reciting. Clary liked poetry and had a piece of her own in her notebook incase she got the chance to read.

 _Simon: be there in 10 :)_

Clary set her phone on the step beside her and stretched her back. Her shoulders were aching from being bent over her desk all morning and the night before working on her graphic novel, so it felt good when her bones popped under her muscle.

As she waited, she wondered if this was meant to be a date.

Her hands were stained with black ink that wouldn't come off in her shower, and her back converse were painted with white daisy's. The jeans she'd picked out were skinnys that emphasized how skinny she was, and though her white t-shirt did about the same, it was tight and v-cut enough to proudly proclaim she wasn't 14 and did in fact have some breast to offer. Her hair, bright and orange-red, was for once not fizzy, and actually fell straight. She'd gotten bangs right before moving, and still wasn't sure how she liked them, though they were cute and brought attention to the green of her eyes.

She was cute, but was she dateable? Her history of moving hadn't let her find out, and online school really hadn't helped.

"Clary?" an almost - low voice said.

She'd been staring at her shoes and hadn't noticed the boy walking through the gate until he spoke. He was tall-much taller than her-and had somewhat decent muscle, and dark slightly curling hair.

"Simon?" she stood up and grinned at him. "oh my god! You look so different!"

He didn't really. He was still Simon, just taller and hotter, less nerdy kid looking.

They hugged and headed off, Clary nearly forgetting her phone as they did.

Instead of dealing with the subway, they hailed a taxi, taking the whole way to the comic store.

As they drove into the city, Clary noticed a huge, castle - like building up a busy street, three black clad figures walking up to it. The air around them seemed to shimmer as they walked up to it, which Clary dismissed as the heat. In the glimpse she had of it before the light turned and the cab shot forward, she could have sworn she saw a fourth person in black, hair almost white, watching them. But then the cab was moving and she turned her attention back to Simon.

That hair...why did it seem so familiar?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

The poetry was horrible, but it was okay because the coffee was good. Simon said it was because cute girls always got good coffee, which made her laugh. They were walking up the street that lead to the brownstone from the subway, close enough that their shoulders brushed.

"Are you saying I'm cute?" she asked, trying not to blush. The apartment was in sight, and she felt a wave a sadness. She didn't want the night to be over.

He brushed against her. "of course I do. I wouldn't have suffered through that awful poetry if I didn't have a cute girl with me."

Clary laughed. "You could have suggested a change of scenery. It was horrible."

"I was expecting something better," he grimaced, running a hand through his hair. "Not the best reunion date."

Her ears perked. "No, but it was nice otherwise." They were in front of the brownstone now, and Clary leaned again the fence beside the gate. "I would invite you up, but my mom is probably asleep."

"That's okay. If it weren't getting late I would have suggested my place anyway since we'd have the TV to ourselves."

Silently taking a deep breath, Clary leaned forward a bit. "I had a really nice time, Simon. You really know how to show a girl a good time. I'd love to do it again."

He took a step toward her, and she could feel the heat of his body. "Minus the poetry."

"Minus the bad poetry."

"I would love to take you out again, Clary." He reached out to take her hand as he spoke.

And then they were kissing. Clary wasn't sure who had initiated the kiss, but she didn't care. Simons lips were warm on hers, and tasted like coffee and melted sugar. She wrapped her arms around his neck and felt his hands in her hair. He smelled like coffee too, coffee and fresh laundry and heat. He felt like home, wrapping itself around her. His body was pressed against hers, pushing her gently against the iron of the fence.

All too soon, the kiss ended. Their foreheads presses together and they breathed heavily.

"You can take me out any time," Clary said. She kissed him again before turning in his loosening arms to unlatch the gate.

"I'll take you up on that." he smiled.

"Let me know that you get home safe, okay?" Clary said, releasing his hand as she closed the gate behind her.

"I will," he said, walking backwards down the street. "And tell me what you think of that comic!"

Her mother was asleep when she got home, laying on the couch with a quilt on her feet. Her phone was on her chest.

Clary grabbed a BBQ chicken wrap from the fridge on her way to her room, then paused and headed over to her mom. She pulled the blanket up and put the phone on the charger. Kissing her mom's forehead, she flicked off the lights, locked the doors, and headed to her room.

Laying in bed, Clary touched her lips with her finger tips and smiled to herself about the kiss, and how great it was to finally have a friend-and possibly boyfriend-in person.

Oddly though, her dreams were not of Simon. Instead, they were flashes of oddly familiar symbols, angle wings, and a boy with almost white hair.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

 **A/N: I am very happy with the way I see this story going, and I have to say that I jumped up and down excitedly when i got an email while writing that said someone is already following my story. Also, I'm sorry if the chapters are short. I don't actually have a computer, so all of this is done on GoogleDocs from my phone. It makes it kind of hard to write at length, but I'll try harder. Ex oh heart!**

 **-Thisbe**

Clary woke up with a start and barely processed her surroundings before jumping to her desk and grabbing her pencil. The picture practically drew itself with her hand, and the image of a blonde haired angel came out smoothly, and without flaw. She wasn't thinking as she drew-she never did- so she was almost surprised when she dropped the black colored pencil back into the mug and sat back to see what was on the page.

His hair was golden blonde and his skin was tan, covered in sharp symbols tattooed on his skin. As she looked at them she thought that 'tattoo' wasn't the right word for what she was seeing, but her mind couldn't supply the word for them. His wings were almost gold, folded behind his muscular form, peeking out behind his shoulders and legs. They were nearly as tall as he was. In his hand was some sort of pen, made to look as though it was glowing and made of metal and glass. He wore a ring, but the design wasn't visable.

She started to reach for her outlining pen, but stopped as her fingers touched it. Unsure of why exactly, she dropped her hand with the feeling that the picture wasn't complete yet.

Jocelyn was fidgeting around the kitchen making breakfast when Clary left her room. The apartment smelled like bacon and pancakes.

"Morning, Mom," she smiled, grabbing the carton of orange juice from the fridge.

She jumped, and pressed a hand to her chest. "Clary! God, you scared me. I didn't hear you come out." She smiled. "Hungry?"

The two of them sat at the counter to eat and Clary frowned at her mom. "Are you okay?"

"Of course," Jocelyn said, a little too quickly.

Her red hair, deeper than Clarys, was up in a messy bun, and Jocelyn brushed a few strands behind her ear. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Clary shrugged. "Pancakes are your comfort food, mom. I know that. Did Luke stand you up or something? You feel asleep on the couch with your phone."

Her mom sighed. "Ever observant, as always. He, um...no, he didnt. He texted to say he got caught up in something."

"Forget him," Clary said around a big bite of pancake. "Any guy who stands up a babe like you isn't worth your time, Mom."

She laughed. "You're probably right, hun. Anyway, how was it with Simon? Was it a _date_ or not?"

"It was," she grinned. "And it was fun. He showed me around Midtown Comics and the Record Store. He bought me a comic and then we went to this coffee place called Java Jones. He's in a band, right? Well one of his band mates was in the poetry reading. But it was funny because he was so bad at poetry. But Java Jones has some great java, Mom, like you wouldn't believe."

She gave her daughter a look. "Did you kiss? Cuz if you didn't it's not a real date." It earned her a swat on the arm, which they both laughed off.

"Yes," Clary said after a moment. "We did kiss. He walked me home and we said it was fun, and then we kissed." She didn't mention that they also stayed up late texting about it and making new plans.

"Good for you, Clar-bear."

"Yeah. And we're going out again tonight!"

Jocelyn's eyes widened. "Oh. So soon?"

"He's my only friend here, Mom," she shrugged. "Who else am I gonna hang out with?"

Before she could answer, Jocelyns phone rang in her pocket. She held up a finger to Clary and stood up to answer it. "Hello?" she hurried to her room, closing the door behind her.

Shrugging, Clary pulled out her own phone.

 _Angel wings, sharp symbols, golden hair. Black hair, silver dagger, glowing sword. Glowing blue water, golden goblet, more symbols. Hooded figures, the smell of burning, the crack of fire. White hair, piercing eyes, more symbols. Cat eyes, a flying arrow, more symbols. The flash of a knife, more symbols. Symbols, symbols, more black symbols._

Clary jerked into a sitting position at her desk and reached for her pencil again. Her hand seemed to blur as it raced across the paper, and she watched almost from outside herself as a figure drew itself beside the golden haired angel.

Dark messy hair, dark eyes, black clothes, a bow strapped to his back, and those same sharp tattoos.

When Clary snapped back into herself, she leaned forward automatically to fill in a blank spot on his shoulder, but stopped herself. It wasn't done yet, and something was meant to go there. But what? She started at the picture for a long time before giving up and going to shower.

What was up with those weird dreams? She didn't normally have weird dreams, honestly. Her dreams were usually the funny sort that most people have-talking cats and oceans made of sprite, or whatever. At least those dreams made no sense for a reason.

Dressed in a grey tea shirt, black converse, and a skirt that looked like a wrapped army - green button down, Clary went to the kitchen hoping for leftover pancakes. She'd fallen asleep at her desk (which happened a lot) and was now starving. A note on the counter said her mom had left, so she turned on her music as background noise.

There were leftover pancakes in the fridge, so she put them on a plate in the microwave.

 _Simon: looking forward to seeing you tonight_

Clary smiled at her phone and texted back.

 _Clary: what are we doing?_

 _Simon: I know a place. Be hungry!_

 _Clary: don't underestimate my stomach_

 _Simon: I like a girl who can eat_

 _Clary: how much? Lol_

 _Simon: your weight in borscht?_

 _Clary: that's a lot of borscht_

 _Simon: weight in 1 sitting?_

 _Clary: that i could do lol as long as there's no poetry_

 _Simon: I know a better place lol_

 _Clary: haha :) aw maybe next time when my ears aren't bleeding_

 _Simon: can't hear you_

Clary laughed aloud. She set her plate of pancakes on the counter and started to drown them in syrup.

 _Clary: I'm eating pancakes!_

 _Simon: funny cuz I'm eating grapes and wishing they were pancakes_

 _Clary: the could be. Press hard and smother in syrup of your choice!_

 _Simon: grape juice in my eye!_

The easy conversation continued until Clary decide it was probably a good idea to get ready.

 _Clary: dress code?_

 _Simon: jeans or whatever. Chill place._

Shrugging, she stayed in the close she was in, but headed to the bathroom to straighten her hair out.

An hour later she was lounging on the couch playing a game on her phone, listening to Simple Plan. The sing went quiet as a text came in

 _Mother ship: I'll be home late._

 _Clary: where are you?_

 _Mother ship: with luke. Tell you later. K?_

 _Clary: stay strong!_

 _Mother ship: trying_

 _Clary: I might be late too. Simon?_

 _Mother ship: right! Totally didn't forget :) have fun. Lock doors. Blah blah.._

 _Clary: use protection ;)_

 _Mother ship: CLARY_

Simon texted that he was five minutes away in a cab, that she should meet him outside so they didn't have to flag another

Grinning, she grabbed her bag and headed out, locking the door behind her.

The place Simon had chose for date #2 was a diner downtown that claimed to have the best borscht in town. According to Simon, they really did.

They sat in a little booth by the window and people - watched while they waited for their food, sipping their coffees.

There was a group of teenagers standing across the street wearing all black, talking amongst themselves. One was a girl, athletic and curvy with legs for miles, and long black hair. The other two were guys, a blonde and a black haired guy that was taller than the blonde. They looked familiar, though Clary was sure she had never seen them before. They were all attractive, the kind of people she would have liked to draw in scenes. Suddenly, they all took off running down the street, and Clary thought she saw a glimpse of a tattoo on the girls neck.

She forgot about the trio a moment later when they're food came. Simon had, of course, gotten the borscht (that almost rhymed), and Clary got a huge burger with an enormous amount of fries, which she drenched in truffle oil and ketchup.

Halfway through their meal, Simon asked about her graphic novel.

"What's it about again?" he asked.

It was a project she'd been working on for the last year, and had shown exclusive to Simon in snippets. "It's about people who kill demons."

"Like in _Supernatural_?"

"Sort of. These guys are human, but they have magic that helps them sense demons."

"Pretty cool. How far have you gotten?"

Clary shrugged. "I'm still working on the story line, so everything so far is filler."

Just then, from her back pocket, her phone started singing a parody of Justin Timberlake. _Mom_.

"Sorry," she said, pulling out her phone and sliding out of the booth. "I gotta take this."

"No problem."

Down a hallway of the diner was the restrooms and a back entrance. Clary leaned against the wall as she pressed the phone to her ear.

"Hey, mom. Need a bail-out?" she grinned.

"Clary, listen to me. I need you to listen very carefully." Her voice was tight, heavy, and there was noise in the background like construction or something.

"What's wrong?"

"Do you remember when I put a number in your phone for emergencies? I need you to call that number right now. Do you understand? Call Tessa and tell her I told you to call. Tell her that they are here. Okay?" The noise in the background got louder, and there was and brief screeching sound, like metal against tiles.

"Mom? Mom, what's going on? Who's there? What's all that noise?" Clary felt her heart beating faster in her chest, and tried not to panic.

"Just do as I say! Call Tessa! Tell her that they're here! Please, Clary, do it. Now!"

There was a crashing sound and the line disconnected.

"Mom? Mom!" Clary shoved the phone in her pocket and ran back out to the diner, where Simon was getting up.

"Clary, what's wrong?"

"I don't know. I have to go, I'm so sorry!" she grabbed her bag, and gave Simon and quick kiss before running out the door.

Everything seemed to blur as she ran down the street, slipping in between people and around signs. She stopped around the corner from the brownstone and dropped to her knees.

Shit, if there was something wrong, someone there, she probably shouldn't just run in.

The mysterious Tessa, her mom's oldest friend apparently, didn't answer. Practically growling with frustration, Clary left a message.

"Tessa, I'm Clary Fairchild. My mom told me to call you because someone is there? I don't know! She isn't answering her phone and something is wrong. Please call-" the phone was suddenly ripped from her hand, and there was and crunching sound.

Clary spun around and jumped to her feet. Before her was a tall guy with almost white hair, holding a mass of rose-colored metal in his hand. When he dropped it, Clary realized it was her phone. He reached for her so fast that his hands seemed to blur, and then there was a streak of black as someone just as fast rushed him and threw him into the iron fence, which dented around him.

Strong hands were suddenly grabbing Clarys shoulders and shoving her down to the pavement, blurring over her before becoming a dark haired man with a bow strapped to his back. Then there was a girl there with long dark hair, twisting a silver beam around the white haired guy, who howled with pain and struck out at the first guy, the blonde. There was a slash of red on his cheek, which he mirrored on the white haired guy with a growl. The girl dipped to the ground and kicked the guys legs out from under him, and the dark haired guy grabbed at his arms, trying to pin them behind his back.

White hair threw himself backward, slamming Dark hair into the iron fence and knocking him out. The blonde punched him in the jaw, sending him to the ground, where the girl grabbed his arms and tried to pin his chest under her knees. With incredible strength, White hair ripped his arms from her grasp, placed his hands on her waist, and threw her away. She slammed into the iron fence, landing on top of Dark hair, who was trying to stand.

Blonde made a gesture to Dark hair before running at White hair and tackling him to the ground again.

Suddenly, Dark hair was standing over Clary, grabbing her arm and ripping her to her feet. Keeping his hold, he started pulling her across the street, but she was locked in place, staring at the two guys grappling on the pavement of the sidewalk. She was vaguely aware that he was shouting at her- _come on, run, run, we gotta go_ -but she couldn't hear him. Her gaze was fixed on the fight.

Their movements were so fast they blurred together, and it almost hurt her eyes to watch.

One of them swung their arm, and there was blood on the pavement. There was a glow in the shape of a knife, slicing through the air but making no purchase.

The dark haired girl dragged herself up, and made her way over to Clary and Dark hair, saying something that she couldn't make out.

Her ears were ringing.

What the hell was happening?

The blonde guy was thrown against the fence, making another big dent in it, and then White hair was standing beside Clary, seeming to suddenly appear there. He grabbed Dark hair by the wrist, there was a cracking sound, and he flung him around and threw him into the blonde guy.

He grabbed Clary and started to lift her over his shoulder, but the girl delivered and kick to the middle of his back. He flew forward, Clary flying over him and did landing on the pavement. There was a crack as her head hit the pavement.

Dark splotches covered her eyes, and then she was in darkness.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I'm really glad you guys like the story. If there's anything you want to read or point you want clarified or added, pm me or leave a review :)**

Chapter Four

Clary was awoken by the sound of a door opening, and the cool breeze of it brushing her face. She opened her eyes to an unfamiliar room of classic Victorian design. She was laying in a four-poster conopy bed of cream and lavender. There was and nightstand beside the best with a lamp, a water glass, and a small ceramic dish containing two white pills. A wooden arm chair stood beside the bed as well.

The door that had awoken her was still open, and there was a man-no, a teenager, just a little older than her-standing beside it. He wore dark jeans and a white t-shirt, his hair unstyled and almost white. Across the exposed skin of his arms and neck, and faintly visible through his shirt, were the sharp black tattoos from her dreams.

"You're awake!" He grinned happily. "I'm glad. How are you feeling? Oh no, don't try to get up! You took a bit of a beating. Here!" He strode toward the bed and helped her sit up, looking concerned when she hissed in pain.

"God, my head…!" She groaned.

"Here," he said, handing her the dish of pills and the water. "Take this. It's Tylenol, of course. I know you're allergic to ibuprofen." He smiled like he was proud to know it.

After a moment of hesitation, Clary took the pills and drained the water.

"Feel better?" He smirked, amused. He sat in the chair.

"I guess, yeah." Clary looked around the room. "Where am I? What happened?" She caught his eye. "Who are you?"

He blinked at her, stunned. "You...you don't remember me?"

He looked familiar, but… "We've never met before."

"Clary…"

"Wait, how do you know my name? Who are you?"

"Clary," he said, sounding almost desperate. "C'mon, it's me! Jonathan! Your brother! How can you not remember me?"

"I'm an only child. I don't have a brother." But oddly, even as she spoke the words, she hesitated. It had always just be her and her mom, hadn't it? Just the two of them moving around together!

Yet his face...it seemed so familiar. It was like seeing all of her things set up in the middle of nowhere. He was as familiar as her mom, as her own reflection in a mirror. His hair, his eyes, his...tattoos. Everything about him struck something, but how? She had no memor of him.

"Clary, of course you do," he said. She could see the hurt in his eyes that he tried to hide. "I'm Jonathan, your brother. And you're Clarissa-Clary, I gave you that nickname when you were three! Our parents are Valentine and Jocelyn Morganstern-"

"My mom is Jocelyn Fairchild," Clary inturupted. "Not Morganstern. She was never married. My father died when I was a baby-and I don't have a brother!" she felt nearly on the verge of panic.

Jonathan moved from the chair to sit on the bed in front of her. "Clary, think about it. I know you recognize me! I look a little different, but not _that_ different."

She shook her head. "We've never met before."

It made no sense. They had never met, but she couldn't deny the familiarity, though she had no memories of him.

But how did he know her name? Or her nickname? Or her mom's name? Or that she was allergic to advil?

Morganstern. Morning star. How did she know that? She'd never heard it before. Had she?

There was a knock at the door, and a man walked in. He looked a lot like Jonathan. They had the same hair color-though the man's was more military cut-and the same tattoos.

"Clary, you're awake! Good." His voice was low, warm and parental.

Jonathan looked at him. "Father, she doesn't remember us!"

The man looked shocked. "What?"

"She doesn't remember us as all!"

The man walked over and sat on the chair. "Clary, what do you remember? It's been a few years, but you must remember something."

She shook her head, growing more upset. "No. I'm sorry, but it's always just been me and my mom."

His eyes flashed. "Your mother. Jocelyn-has she told you anything? Yesterday when you spoke, what did she say?"

"She told me to call someone…?" Clary put a hand on her forehead. Her memory was fuzzy and her head hurt. She remembered eating with Simon, taking the call from her mom...being outside the house calling Tessa...the waking up here. "I was supposed to call Tessa. I had to tell her something."

Jonathan cocked his head to the side. "The warlock girl?"

The man nodded and stood up. "A warlock, of course. I think...there's a block on your mind, Clary, put there by a warlock. I'll make a few calls. Don't worry, hun." He touched her shoulder. "We'll figure this out." He smiled affectionately, if a little sad, then looked at Jonathan. "Look after your sister. Try to help her remember." Then he left.

"Who was that?" Clary asked once he was gone.

"Valentine. Our father."

"Did someone really take my memories?" The idea was scary, even if it sounded inpossible. It seemed more likely that she'd simply sustained amnesia from a head injury.

"If mother was friendly with Tessa, it's possible."

"But why? I mean, if what you're saying is true, why would mom even want to do that?" She was always saying she missed my father, and wished he hadn't died, and how she had always wanted a son as well...why would she have left them?

Jonathan shrugged. "I don't know. She left out of nowhere, in the night. We woke up one morning and you were both gone. I was only thirteen."

That surprised Clary. "Thirteen? Wait, how old are you?" he looked almost her age.

"Seventeen."

"Only a year older than me? So...I was only...twelve?"

He nodded. "That's why it's weird that you don't remember."

"that's crazy though! When I was twelve we'd just moved to LA from San Francisco-Scottsdale before that!"

He shook his head. "No, Clary. Those memories aren't real. They were put there to replace the ones that were taken. We were living in Idris when you were twelve. In the Morganstern manor house. We spent weekends in Alicante."

"What's Idris?" The name rang a million bells, but they led nowhere in her head.

"It's where we're from. Alicante is the Capitol city." his eyes glazed over a bit. "It's the most beautiful place in the world-glass towers, shining buildings. The City of Glass"

An image flashes being Clarys eyes of a shining city with rolling hills behind it-something her mother had painted once. Clary could see it in her minds eye, leaning against the wall in her mother's room, right under the window. Glass towers...She'd even drawn something like it for her graphic novel. Was it the same place?

"Where's my bag?" she asked.

Jonathan stood up and grabbed something from the foot of the bed. Her old leather messenger bag. "This one?" He handed it to her before sitting back down.

Her sketchbook was inside-as were her travel pencils and charcol, thankfully, since they were still expensive-containing sketches of characters and snippets of her graphic novel. She flipped through pages of demonic creatures and runic symbols and clothes until she got the the colored drawing of the glass city she'd drawn.

"I always thought I made it up," she said, sliding the book so he could see.

"That's definitely Alicante. May I?" he asked reaching for the book. She nodded, and he started sifting through it.

"what?" She asked when he made a face.

"You definitely have a block in your head, but you remember a lot." He adjusted to show her what was seeing, and pointed at various pictures. "This is a ravenor demon, Clary. We've fought them togetger. This is the weapons shop in Alicante where we got to pick out our first swords and get them engraved when we were eight. Those are the swords, we got morning stars on the hilts. And these runes here are from the Grey Book-sure footedness, far sighted, Angelic power, unlock, heal…" he pointed to a rune that appeared like hearts around a boy and girl (the main characters) who stood within a circle of fire. "Parabatai," he said sadly. "We were going to get it together"

Clary felt a sudden wave of sadness without knowing why. When he said the word,her heart shuddered. It was like her heart knew what it meant when her brain couldn't find the words for it. She decided right then for herself what her heart said.

 _Brother._

"why would mom separate us?" she asked, suddenly wanting to cry. "I can feel leaving you, but I can't remember!"

Jonathan dropped the book and pulled Clary into his arms. "Don't cry, Clary, please. Please don't be sad! We'll figure this out, I promise!" He pulled back to smile and wipe the tears from her cheeks. "we're together now, and that's all that matters!"

Then, his smile became soft and deep with emotion that he'd clearly been suppressing: love.

This was the look of a brother, finally reunited with his sister after four long years. It was a look of joy and love that said he really didn't need answers because knowing he had her back was enough for him.

Clary returned his smile as best as she could. She didn't feel the loss the way he did, but could feel pieces of her heart being filled that she hadn't realized had been empty. The difference was that Clary did need answers. She realized as they talked that her childhood memories were all vague, as though they were discribed instead of lived. Spaces were filed with words instead of memories: school, tv, Sacramento, Portland, mountain, friends, river, summer, christmas. Words but no pictures. She realized as she thought that her first actual memory was of her first day of school in Miami, only twelve years old, taking a Tylenol from her mom as they walked through a city alley. Then they'd moved to Texas and spent Christmas dinner at Dennys, like they did for every holiday. And Jocelyn never really dated but was always meeting old friends in the streets when they were out, and they always acted like Jocelyn had died. They would whisper for a long minute, then grab a drink later. Clary always got the sense that her mom was running from always scary past and just didn't want to scare her, but they never talked about it. They'd moved to New York when Jocelyn had learned that Luke was living there, and Clary had learned that Luke had been friends with her parents in school, way before Clary had been born. Luke had been there to see Clarys birth, and would have been the best man at their wedding if her father hadn't supposedly died.

Was any of that even true? Did Luke know Valentine or was it all lies?

"Jonathan," Clary said suddenly. "Where's my mom? I want to see her."

Jonathan looked away. "Clary...our mother isn't well. She's...she's at Beth Isreal in a coma. She's okay, no damage they can find or anything, but they don't know why she won't wake up. She's stable, and it's just a waiting game now."

Her body felt cold. "Can I see her?"

"Yeah, of course. We'll go no. Uhm, I should tell father. There's a bathroom and closet through that door if you want to change or whatever. I'll be back."

Clary hadn't noticed the door before, hidden from her view behind the gause of the beds canopy. She waited until Jonathan was gone before getting out of the bed and heading over, praying there was a shower.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Behind the door, Clary found a full bathroom with a 6-head shower and another door leading to a walk-in closet holding a few of her clothes-probably enough to fill a backpack.

The shower felt like heaven on the muscles she hadn't realized were sore, and on her neck. Her head hurt like she'd hit it, but couldn't remember doing so. There were scrapes and forming bruises on her arms, legs, and back, and a nasty cut on her temple right below her bangs. Where had they come from?

All of the products in the shower and on the counter were from her private bathroom back home, and she couldn't help but wonder how they'd gotten there. Surely Jonathan could clear it all up.

After showering and blowing her hair straight, Clary walked into the closet and pulled on a pair of ink-stained jeans, a cropped white _Jurassic World_ tee, and black converse that she'd worn the day before.

Back in the bedroom, she found Jonathan sitting on the bed looking through her sketch book.

"Ready?" he asked. "Father is busy, so I'll be driving us." He made a face. "Plus, I think seeing mother in the hospital upsets him. You understand, I'm sure."

Clary nodded. "Is she really that bad?"

"Not really," he said, leading her out the door and down and hallway. "She's breathing on her own and everything, but she has a lot of equipment on her. The doctors don't know what's wrong, so they have to keep an eye on everything." He sighed. "I'm sure it'll be hard for you to see her like that, because she's your mom."

"She's your mom, too," Clary said.

"Yeah, but it's different. I haven't seen her in four years, and I don't know why she left. It's hard. I can't even ask her." he shook his head, looking upset. "Sorry. It's just hard and confusing for me. I've missed her, and I'm happy to see her, but I'm confused and upset."

On impulse, Clary took his hand. "Don't worry. She'll wake up and we'll get our answers. I'm sure she has them." She gave him a smile, which he tightly returned.

Jonathans car was a rented Mercedes, which he drove like he'd been behind its leather wheel his entire life. The house was several miles outside the city, and with traffic it made the drive over an hour to the hospital. As they drove, Jonathan turned the radio to a classic station.

"Do you mind?" he asked. "Classical music relaxes me."

"I don't mind."

They'd been in the car only about five minutes when Clary spoke again.

"What do your tattoos mean?"

He didn't look at her, focused on the road, but she could see his confusion. "You don't know? Clary, they're runes, the same ones you drew in your book!" Keeping one hand on the wheel at all times, he pointed them out. "For-sight, Angelic Power, Speed, Sure-Footedness...These ones that are faded are old iratzes, and Silent Footedness, glamoure…" he grinned. "Good luck, prosperity, success, stamina, mental excellence…" They came to a red light and he looked at her. "You would have them too, but you get your first one at twelve, and we hadn't done yours yet."

"Twelve?" Clary gaped. "But you can't get a tattoo until your eighteen!"

He shook his head. "They aren't tattoos. They're Marks. They give us power." Still at the red, he glanced at her again and then sighed, shaking his head. "You don't know about this either? Wow. Okay. Mother really should have taught you something."

"Well, it's it's a long drive. Tell me everything."

 _Marks._ It was the word Clary had been thinking of. Runic marks that gave people power. It was like her graphic novel, which was quickly seeming more like repressed memories needing an outlet.

Jonathan went on to describe everything.

They were a special race of human called Shadowhunters: humans with the gift of angel blood that allowed them to use runes to give them abilities to fight demons. He told her about how Jonathan Shadowhunter was given the gift by the angel Raziel to rid the earth of demons; how Shadowhunter blood was dominant, and that they were either born or created by drinking from the Mortal Cup-another gift from Raziel, along with the sword and the mirror; how along with demons there were also fae, warlocks, vampires, and werewolves, which were called Downworlders. Downworlders and Shadowhunters lived in a sort-of peace because of the Accords. Shadowhunters killed demons and rouge Downworlders with the goal of protecting humans. Idris, their homeland, was the origin of Shadowhunters and a place where they lived and could seek refuge from danger. Along with Idris were Institutes around the world where Shadowhunters lived in close proximity to humans (which he called mundanes) in order to protect them from the evils of the world wherever they may be. Along with runes, Shadowhunters used weapons with runes on them called seraph blades, which were made to kill demons by envocing the power of the runes and angels themselves.

"Think I'm crazy yet?" Jonathan asked.

Clary shook her head. "It makes more sense than anything else, honestly." Plus, the information felt more right than any other explaination. It explained the runes and the dreams in a way that Clary couldn't put into words. It felt like the truth. "So...we're Shadowhunters. Mom too?"

He nodded. "Yup. Our parents were born and raised in the Glass City, just like us. You don't remember, but it's the truth."

He continued that runes were applied with a tool called a stele, and that if applied to any other being it would turn them Forsaken and kill them. "Think of them like zombies. The virus is contact only, and not everyone catches it. It's not exact, but basically runes react with shadowhunter blood, and reacts badly without it."

But certain runes could be used on inanimate objects also, though only when done by a shadowhunter.

"So how did you find mom?" Clary asked suddenly when they were ten minutes from the hospital and Jonathan had paused to take a breath.

He took a deep breath, and seemed to struggle to find words for a moment. "Father and I have been looking for you guys for four years, Clary, which I'm sure you've guessed. Well, a couple of days ago, we heard that someone had seen Mother here in New York with another shadowhunter, whose name we didn't catch. When we came to look, Father was making calls and researching while I pounded the pavement, so to speak. I followed a couple of other Shadowhunters thinking that it might have been you instead of Mother. I figured it could be you, and that you might have shadowhunter friends. We thought you guys might have false identities, so we followed every possible lead. Well, Father found a website with Mothers name on it-something about her art, and it had a phone number, which was attached to a recently changed address. I was heading over, just to check it out. I saw Mother through a window as I was going up, and then I saw a group of Council members heading inside. I hesitated, and then heard the sound of a Portal being made. When i got inside, I saw Mother on the floor unconcious, and everything thrown around.

"Anyway, I went outside to call Father to tell him what happened. I heard you talking and didn't realize who you were at first. I thought maybe you were some sort of look-up for the Clave, and...well, Father and I are supposed to tell the Clave if we got word of you guys, in case it was dangerous. I didn't want Father to get in trouble, so...well, I over reacted. I was emotional and upset. I, well, I broke your phone and got mad for no reason. Then some other Shadowhunters got the wrong idea and thought I was trying to hurt you. They're okay, we were all pretty beat up, but then Father came and got us. You were knocked out, I was freaking out, and Mother was unconsious...Honestly it was all kind of a blur for a while there. Sorry if you got hurt."

Clary smirked. "Now I know where the bruises came from. Don't worry, I'm fine."

"Good. I was pretty sure you were, but you hit your head pretty hard."

"I'm okay."

"It wasn't until Father showed up that I actually realized that you were my sister. He's kind of proud, so don't tell him I told you, but he cried when he saw you."

It made Clary smile, but it quickly went away and was replaced by anger and sorrow. She had no memory of her own father. It must have been painful for him to see her blank gaze earlier.

Suddenly, she was determined to get her memories back, no matter the cost. Against her will, the blank spaces had already cost her family four years, and her own life. She wouldn't let it hurt them anymore.

It was nearly noon when they arrived at the hospital, so it was mostly quiet as people filtered out to eat. There was a nurse leaving the room where Jocelyn was, and Jonathan stopped her before she could disappear.

"Excuse me," he said. "I'm Jocelyn Fairchilds son. Can you tell me how she's doing? Oh, this is Clary, my sister."

The nurse smiled. "She's doing just fine-still asleep, but fine. I'll have her doctor come speak with you, and he can answer all of your questions."

Clary shivered at the tone she used-the hushed tone that was reserved for hospitals and funerals. She hated it.

"Thank you. We'll just be inside then." He took Clarys hand and went to open the door. "It's okay," he said.

She nodded and gave him as much of a smile as she could.

Jocelyn was laying in the hospital bed, looking just as she always had aside from all of the equipment attached to her. She looked like she was simply sleeping, her deep read hair spread around her face, cheeks pale and flawless. As she stepped up to the bed, Clary half-hoped that her mom would suddenly wake up and try to scare her, the way she'd always done.

But she didn't move. The only signs that she was even alive were the slight rise and fall of her chest, and the steady beeping of the heart monitor.

"Are you okay?" Jonathan asked, squeezing her hand gently.

"She's alive, so I will be."

Jonathan nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. "It's weird that she looks the same as she did when I was young." He smiled slightly, looking sad. "I remember when I was a kid and she used to pretend to be asleep so she could scare me."

"She did that with me too." Clary said.

"She used to laugh about it and keep score, and i would try to scare her too. She would act scared to make me feel strong, but I knew that she could tell I was awake."

"Did I do that?"

"you were even worse at faking it than I was, but you tried. Once we did it together and she acted so scared, then tickled us until we cried."

"Did our father ever do it?"

He shook his head. "No, but he was really good at surprise attacks from behind corners and stuff."

Clary had to look away. "I wish I could rememeber. For me...it's like I don't have a dad. It's weird, thinking I don't one day, then having one the next, and not remembering that I only haven't had a dad for four years…"

He put a hand on her shoulder. "I know how you feel. Honestly, I was starting to wonder if you two were even alive. I was sure I'd never see you again."

Without thinking, they found themselves embracing, comforting each other silently. Jonathans body was warm against hers, and made her feel for the first time all day, even as she looked at her mom over his shoulder, that everything would really be okay.

In the car, coming up to the parking garage exit, Clary pulled her knees up and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Are you okay?"

"I'll tell you later," she tried to joke. She cleared her throat. "Uhm, I'm okay with going back to the house with you, but do you mind if we stop by the apartment? I just want to pick up a few things."

Jonathan hesitated for a second before nodding. "Sure. It's the middle of the day, so it should be fine." he glanced at her. "I tried to grab as much of your stuff as I could once I knew that mother was okay. But i guess a backpack of clothes isn't really enough."

"Not really," she smirked. "But I'll be quick anyway."

"We should probably get you a new phone at some point too," he said.

"Yeah, thanks for that, by the way. That was a brand new phone that you crushed." she joked.

Jonathan pointed to a rune on his shoulder. "Strength," he grinned. "Sorry. But it's not really my fault."

"I'll be giving Raziel a piece of my mind if I ever meet him."

Laughing out loud, Jonathan almost missed the turn, and ran up on the curb trying to make it.

"Just make sure to say it nicely, otherwise he might smite you. I've heard angels can do that."

Clary looked at him. "Jonathan, do you believe in angels? I mean, I remember what you told me, but is it real or is it just a story?"

"Well, I've never seen an angel. I've seen demons, of course. And I believe that there has to be a balance of good and evil. I'm not sure, but I will say that there's enough evidence that we can't say angels don't exist. I'm sort of a seeing-is-believing kind of guy, you know? But I do believe that anything is possible, and could exist."

"What about God?"

"No. But i think the idea of God came from somewhere-probably from the angels, if they really exist. But God is an idea created by mundanes, who would probably believe that a warlock was a god, so… I don't know. What about you?"

Clary shook her head. "Mom didn't raise me to be religious."

"Mother was raised as a shadowhunter, so I believe that. Father doesn't believe in a god either."

"What's our father like?" Clary asked suddenly a few minutes later.

Jonathan tilted his head to one side, leaning against the door and driving one-handed. "Uhm...he's like any father, I suppose. Well, any shadowhunter father. He's strict on training and learning and safety. Very smart. Before you guys went missing, he was in line to be the Inquisitor. Everyone always says he would be a great leader, that he's an amazing fighter." He paused to think for a long moment. "I guess he's passionate about shadowhunting the way a mundane father is about sports."

Clary nodded. "So he's just a normal dad?"

He shrugged, smiling. "Pretty much, yeah. He's a great guy."

The car circled the brownstone twice before Jonathan pulled over and sighed. "I'll try to find a place to park. You can get your stuff, and I'll help you in a minute."

Nodding, Clary got out of the car and headed up the block to the building where she'd lived for almost two weeks. When she got up to it, she noticed the fence.

It was solid iron, barely rusted even after years of standing. Surrounding the brownstone and the garden of flowers within, it was nearly untouched. Well, it had been. Clary know from Jonathan that a fight had happened the night before between him and some other Shadowhunters. She also knew that Shadowhunters were stronger than humans naturally, and that runes made them stronger. Yet it was unbelievable that they were strong enough to make six foot dents in solid iron bars.

The fence in that area looked like it had been hit by a car more than once.

"Clary!"

She spun around and found herself face to face with a grinning Simon.

"S-Simon!" she gaped. "What are you doing here?"

"What? Can't I surprise my best friend?" He pulled her into a tight hug. His lips brushed hers as he pulled away. "What's up? I called earlier, but your phones been off?"

"Oh, it's not off. It's broken. It's a long story, but I can't really talk right now." She sighed. "Sorry, Simon. I just really have to get some stuff from inside, and then I'm leaving."

He blinked hard twice. "Are you moving again? You just got here!"

"Sort of, not really. Just across town. I'm getting a new phone, so I'll definitely call you and explain everything then. But right now, I'm kind of-"

"Clary!" Jonathan called, walking up. He looked around confused. "Where's your stuff? Oh, and who's your friend?" In and very brotherly way, he slipped an arm around her shoulders. He was a lot taller than her, so the action was slightly awkward for both of them.

"Sorry," Clary stammered. "Um…"

"Clary, who's this?" Simon asked, looking at Jonathan oddly. His look said 'who is this relatively attractive guy side hugging my almost-girlfriend'-a look he was trying to hide from Clary but not Jonathan.

"Jonathan, this is Simon, my best friend," Clary said. "Simon, meet Jonathan, my brother."

Now Simon looked at Clary like she was on something. He leaned in slightly and lowered his voice to say, "Clary, you don't have a brother. You're an only child."

"Like I said earlier, it's a long story. I do have a brother, it turns out. We've just, uh, never met before. It's crazy and I still don't know everything because my mom is in the hospital-"

"What?" Simon gasped, panicked and concered. "Is she okay? What happened?"

She nodded. "She's okay. She's stable, but she's in a coma and the doctors don't know what's wrong. But she'll be okay."

"What happened?"

"I don't really know. Jonathan, um, was coming over this...um, last night, and found her unconsious on the floor, and he called 911 and our dad-"

"Wait," Simon put his hands up. "You have a dad now too?"

She shook her head, sighing. "Yeah. It's all really crazy. Anyway, so mom is in the hospital. So I'm just moving across town to stay with dad and Jonathan until she wakes up. It could be a while, since we don't know what's wrong, but I promise I'll keep in touch and we'll hang out and I'll tell you everything as soon as things calm down a little."

Jonathan slid away a few inches to look at Clary. "If you wanna stay a while, that's okay. We can get your stuff later…from here and the phone. I'm sure father will understand."

Clary hesitated, then shrugged. "Whatever works." She looked between them. "We could get coffee?"

"Sure," Simon nodded.

"You two go ahead. I'll go get a new phone for you, then meet up with you guys in a little while?" Jonathan shrugged.

"Okay," Clary smiled. "How about we all head over to Java Jones and then we can come back for my stuff? There's a few phone places over there."

"Sounds good." Jonathan looked at Simon. "Do you drive?"

He nodded. "I have my van. I can meet you there? Clary, you can give him directions and show him the stores and where to park if you remember…?"

"I do."

"Awesome," said Jonathan. "Clary and I will meet you there then."

From the car, they watched Simon get into the rickety old van that he used to tote his band around to gigs.

"Thought so," Jonathan sighed. "It's the only van on the block, and I'm pretty sure you'd die in that thing."

Clary smacked his shoulder, but they both laughed.

"I'm sure he's a decent driver, don't get me wrong. He seems like a good guy, but I don't trust that hunk of junk with my sister."

"Simon is great," Clary said fondly as they drove behind him. "We met when we were twelve."

"Where did you meet?"

"Well mom and I moved around a lot, so Simon and I met in online school. When we were living in LA, his family went to Disneyland and we got to meet in person for the first time when we were thirteen or so. He's been my best friend ever since."

"Is he your boyfriend too?" Seeing the look on her face, Jonathan laughed. "Is saw him kiss you when I was walking up. I haven't spent much time with mundanes, but that's more intimate than friendship, isn't it?" He winked at her.

"No its more than friendship. But Simon and I haven't talked about it."

"Well, do you want him to be your boyfriend?"

She shrugged. "I haven't really thought about it. I mean, he's great-he's funny and smart, he likes the same stuff as me...He'd be a great boyfriend, and it would be nice. But...with mom in the hospital and my memories and you and dad, not to mention being a shadowhunter! I don't know. It's probably not the best time to start dating someone."

"Probably not. But if you like him…" he shrugged. "Neither of you can wait forever. In our world you live fast and die young-and most do. That's why we tend to get married before twenty-five, and you can't become someone's _parabatai_ unless your under eighteen. When you live and breath danger and action like we do, there's never really a right time for anything." He glanced at her as they came to a light. "I'm just saying that if you like him, don't wait. You never know when it'll be too late."

She smirked. "Aren't you suppose to be keeping me from dating? You are my brother afterall."

"If Simon was even remotely a danger to you, I would fight it. However, he's a mundane, and I'm pretty sure you could take him down."

Clary was pretty sure too, but she didn't say so. Instead, she turned the tables. "What about you? Do you like someone?"

"Love hasn't really been on my mind, actually. I've spent the last four years devoted to trying to find you."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I want you all to know that I do have a direction for this fic, and that it will be awesome. Lemme know what you'd like to read-pm an encounter or conversation and I'll fit it in for your enjoyment!

Chapter Six

Being that it was barely one on a tuesday, Java Jones was pretty empty. It was warm out side, so Simon and Clary got iced lattes, and sat beside each other on one of the couches-the same one they'd sat on only a couple days before.

"At least there's no bad poetry this time," Simon joked as he sipped his coffee.

"Thank god. I don't know if I could sit through that again."

Clary glanced through the window and saw Jonathan across the street, walking into the Sprint store, and wanted to sigh. He'd dropped a bomb on her earlier that day that she was only half human-not exactly, but basically. She'd gotten the sense that it was a secret she wasn't allowed to share with normal people. Mundanes, like Simon.

Though the life she'd been living for four years was a book of lies, there was one thing that had been real: her friendship with Simon. He was her friend, her only friend, and he deserved to know. More than that, she desperately wanted him to be a part of her life-her life which was suddenly full of secrets, half-truths, lies, and magic. She wondered if she could tell him the truth without breaking rules, perhaps tell him it was a dream, or part of her graphic novel. Would it be a lie? Would it be better for him to know?

Would it put him in danger?

She wished she would have asked Jonathan in the car, but somehow the real bomb between them was the knowledge that he'd spent four years desperate to find her, and hadn't let himself be distracted even by love for another. They hadn't spoken after that.

Clary knew that if she didn't tell Simon, he would get pushed away by it all. She would forget to call as she searched for answers, learned how to be a shadowhunter, and put the pieces of her life together. She couldn't bear the idea of losing him to all that-losing the one thing that had been truly real for her.

"Clary?" Simon said suddenly. "Are you okay? You're staring into space."

She shook herself. "No, I'm fine. There's just a lot going on right now that I can't wrap my head around it all." she smiled apologetically. "Sorry. It's all coming me so fast that I can't even get away from it."

"You don't have to apologize, Clary. Really! And you don't have to tell me either. We can just...be together. Just you and me-no crazy stuff, no drama. Just the two of us together like we've wanted for years, even if it's only for a few minutes. Okay?"

"I swear I'll tell you everything when it's not blinding."

"I appreciate that, but 'blinding' sounds poetic, so if you could just not say that…"

She smacked his arm, laughing, feeling like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. At least for now, she didn't have to tell Simon.

So instead of talking about stressful stuff, they talked about nerd stuff. Simon had started reading a new comic series, his band had changed their name from Tranquil Badass to Champagne Enigma, and he'd decided to work on school through the summer in hopes of graduating early.

Without having realized time had been passing, Clary found herself jumping when Jonathan suddenly sad down a ross from them saying, "Sorry I took so long. That place was crowded. It took twenty minutes to get help."

"How long were you there?" Clary asked.

He looked at his watch. "Over an hour."

"I didn't realize it'd been so long…" she muttered. "Do you want a coffee?"

"I'm good. What are you guys talking about?"

Simon shrugged. "Comic books mostly. Do you read them?"

"Not really, but they're cool. I read mostly classics and religious stuff."

"How scholarly. Are you religious?" Simon asked.

"I have my moments," he joked. Then he looked to Clary, handing her a small box. "There's your phone. I got you a new case too."

She opened the box and found a brand new iPhone. Her previous phone had had a simple plastic case with pictures of roses. The case Jonathan had bought was already on the phone: cobalt blue acrilyc roses all over it, accented with little gems.

"Thanks," she smiled, setting the box beside her and flicking the phone on.

"Its got all your contacts on it, but they weren't able to get the pictures or apps. Sorry about that, but it wasn't to be."

"How'd you break your phone anyways, Clary?" Simon asked. "You're normally so careful with it."

"Actually," Jonathan said. "I broke it. It was an accident."

"He litterally crushed it in his hand," Clary said, like it was a joke. Jonathan stiffened, but Simon laughed.

"Yeah, right. No offense Jonathan, but I don't think even you could do that." Before he could say anything else, his phone started going off in his pocket. "It's my mom," he said, seeing it was a text. He shook his head. "Hey, sorry guys, but I have to head home. Mom wants me home."

Clary jumped up. "I'll walk you out."

Simon finished what little was left of his coffee, then stood up too.

"I'll be right back," Clary told Jonathan.

"Take your time," he waved. "I'm in no hurry."

Simons van was parked across the street, the passenger side visible from Java Jones, so Clary walked him all the way to it.

"He seems nice," Simon said. "Cool tattoos too."

"He is nice. I'm glad you like him. I was kind of worried about it." She leaned against the side of the van, out of view of the coffee shop. "I'm really glad we were able to hang out, even if it couldn't just be the two of us."

He shrugged. "It's not like this is the last time we'll ever see each other. Besides, it's nice to hang out with someone new. It's also nice to know you have another person who cares about you. I know it's weird, but it's always made me sad knowing I was your only friend and we'd only met once, you know?"

She smiled, touched by his words. "Yeah. And you're right, because we'll be hanging out a lot. I didn't move to New York for nothing!"

Then Simon took a step toward her, suddenly close enough for Clary to feel the heat of his body. "This might not be the right time or place or whatever...but can I kiss you?"

Blushing, she pushed up on her toes and brushed her lips against his as her response. Simon wrapped an arm around her back, keeping her up as he kissed her harder. He leaned down into her and pressed her back against the van with his body. Her hands went up around his shoulders and she smiled against his mouth.

She liked kissing Simon. He was good at it, and it felt good to be so close to another person-someone she liked, at that. And it would have been nice to do it more without having to worry about all the other stuff in her life.

Sadly, the kiss had to end. He broke it off, pressing his forehead to hers for a brief moment before kissing her one last time, then pulling away. Though her calves burned from being up on her toes, she would have preferred to keep kissing him.

"I should probably get going," he said.

"Text me so I know you get home safe?"

"Will do. Oh," he said as he opened the van door. "Feel free to give Jonathan my number-for emergencies in the future or whatever. Your mom had it, so he can too. You never know what might happen, and you know my number by heart, so…" He shrugged.

She grinned. "Thanks, Simon. Drive safe!"

She stood there while until he drove around the corner and the beat up van was out of sight, then she crossed the street. Jonathan had her bag and phone in his hand and was just walking out when she got to the door of Java Jones.

"Thanks," she said, taking them from him.

"I saw him leave and assumed we weren't sticking around either. Are you ready to get your stuff?" She nodded and he wrapped an arm around her as they started toward the car.

Once again, like Deja Vu, Jonathan dropped her in front of the brownstone and went to find a place to park. As she walked up the front steps to the door, she noticed that in the last hour or so the owners had been by to take down the FOR RENT sign for the lower level apartment. It had been vacant since before she and her mom had moved in, so it was weird that the sign was gone. Hopefully the neighbors would be nice-maybe they would have a daughter her age. That would be nice for when everything was figured out and she was back there living with her mom.

She jumped up the stairs to the second floor, and unlocked the door, resisting the natural urge to call out that she was home.

In her bedroom, Clary pulled the suitcase from under the bed and began filling it strategically with clothes, shoes, and miscellaneous items. She was just closing it when the unfinished picture on her desk caught her eye. After a moment of consideration, she folded it carefully and put it in the sketchbook in her purse, which was strapped across her body as always.

Hearing the sound of quiet steps from somewhere else in the apartment, she called out. "Jonathan, can you grab my jacket from the hall closet? It's the red one!"

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up but before she could turn, a hand was pressed tightly across her mouth, and a red light was itching against the skin of her shoulder. Her vision started going dark, she felt her knees go out, and she realized that whoever was holding her up was most definitely not Jonathan.

Then everything was black.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: hey everyone, I hope you liked that cliffy! It was late last night and I needed to post, so I stopped there. My best friend has been helping with ideas for this, but even she was left unaware of that little bit XD bwahaha cuz I'm a girl with a plan to entice everyone and keep you all interested. I loved waking up to comments about it :) KEEP READING TO FIND OUT WHO CAPTURED HER!

Chapter Seven

The image carved itself into the blackness of her lids, outlined in red and white. Like the other runes she was now familiar with, this one was almost jagged in its sharpness, simple in its intricacy. Despite having never seen it before, her mind knew what it meant: sleep. She felt it disappear slowly from her shoulder and became aware of several things at once, even before opening her eyes.

First, she was lying in a bed in a cold, dimly lit room. Second, she was not alone. She could hear the breathing of at least two people near her. Third, they were watching her.

Recalling the events, she knew that it was not Jonathan or her father. She also got the idea that whomever it was was stronger, faster, and more prepared than she could have hoped to be. She wouldn't be able to fight them off, even if she wanted to.

Clary opened her eyes.

The room was huge with tall ceilings, blank walls, and blue light. She was lying on a small cot, surrounded by two rows of identical cots. On the one beside hers, two teenaged boys and a girl were sitting. When she opened her eyes, the girl-who had long black hair- shot up and left the room.

"Where am I?" Clary asked, looking at the blonde haired guy.

"I think you'll find that we are the ones asking the questions," the guy with dark hair said.

They both looked familiar, but Clary couldn't place them. She knew by their marks that they were shadowhunters, which should have meant she was safe, if not for the fact that they look almost angry in their seriousness. Simon would have called it a poker face, but Clary decided it was more the looks of military interrogators-like from the movies.

She sat up. "Where is Jonathan?"

"Don't worry," said a woman's voice. Clary looked over and saw a another dark haired woman, this one looking very sophisticated with her hair in a tight bun, being followed by the girl who had left. "Jonathan isn't here. I would imagine he's with his father, but it really not important." She stood at the end of Clary's cot, stern and unyielding in expression and body. "Who are you?"

"I'm really not allowed to talk to strangers."

"You are Clarissa Morganstern," the woman said. "Daughter of Valentine and Jocelyn." She sighed, like she was reluctant to give anything away besides the understanding that she had the upper hand. "This is the Institute, of course. I am Maryse Lightwood. This is Isabelle, Alec, and Jace. I'm sure your recognize them."

Clary shook her head. "Sorry. No."

"Well they remember you. It seems they attempted to rescue you from the harm of a person of interest. It's not important. Where is Jocelyn Morganstern?"

"She isn't here, and she isn't at home," Clary said. "I'm not with her, so I really can't tell you for sure."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the blonde, Jace, hide a smirk.

"I'm underage," Clary continued. "You've kidnapped me, which is illegal everywhere. I don't care if you're shadowhunters. You don't have the right to interrogate me."

"Believe me, this isn't ideal at all, but I could make it a lot worse. I decided to have you brought here. Would you have preferred to wake up in the Silent City?"

Though she'd never heard of it, the name sent a chill down Clary's spin, and images of gruesome monks filled her vision.

"You have no right." Her voice shook slightly, but she ignored it. "I am not one of yours and you have no right to do this."

"Listen. Just tell me what I ask and you will be able to leave. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. It's your choice."

The implications were clear, and Clary knew that. The alternative was vague to her, but the images staining her mind were incentive enough.

"My mom is in a coma," she said. "I don't know why. I can't help you."

"We've had eyes on that house. Who were you with?" Maryse asked.

"My brother. I'm staying with him and needed my things."

"Your mother's things?"

"My things. My mother is in a coma, she can't use her things. Why do you want to know about my mom? She hasn't done anything wrong."

"She's a person of interest. It's need to know and that is all you need to know. Where is your mother?"

Clary sighed loudly. "Beth Israel, in a coma. I really can't tell you anything else. I want to see Jonathan."

Now Maryse sighed. "We will confirm your information is correct. Until then, you will stay here, under watch. Alec, the sanctuary. Isabelle, the front. Jace, stay with her." She looked at Clary. "Once I know you're telling the truth, that you know nothing, you can leave." Then she spun on her heel and left, Alec and Isabelle following her.

Clary looked at Jace, still unsure of his exact familiarity. Maryse had mentioned that Clary had met them while with a person of interest, which she assumed was her mom, but the two hadn't been in New York for long enough to have met anyone. Jonathan was a perfectly normal shadowhunter, some couldn't be a person of interest. Simon was a mundane so it probably wasn't him.

"Where's my stuff?" Clary asked.

Jace looked surprised. "What?"

"My bag? It was was on me when I was kidnapped. Where is it?"

He leaned back to pick her bag up from the other side of the cot he was perched on. Why was everyone putting her stuff on the floor? He handed it to her. "You won't find your phone in there if that's what you're looking for. It's been confiscated."

"Am I in trouble?" She asked. "Because I haven't done anything wrong."

He shrugged. "I can't really say."

"Because you don't know or you aren't allowed to say?"

"Maryse said you could leave when we know you aren't lying, so you couldn't have done anything too horribly wrong." He smirked. "But whatever makes you feel better, I suppose."

"Have we met before?" Clary got the sense that since they were alone, Jace was allowed to answer some of her questions, and that she was allowed to ask.

"Define 'met'?"

"You look familiar."

"We've never spoken or been introduced, no. But I do know who you are. I'm actually disappointed that you don't remember me from childhood though. I've always made an impression on people."

She shook her head. "I don't remember, but don't be offended. I don't remember anything from before I was twelve."

He raised a brow. "That's a very specific age to loose your memory."

"I wouldn't know."

"Of course. Well, the important thing is that now we've met. I'm Jace Lightwood, you're Clarissa Morganstern-"

"Clary, actually," she said. "Clary Fairchild."

"That's your mothers maiden name."

"It's my name."

"Sounds like an identity crisis." He smirked at her.

She shrugged. "Just because you have a problem with it, doesn't mean I have to. I know who I am and my name doesn't change that."

"There's power in a name," he said, off hand, like he didn't really care.

"'What's in a name,'" she began. "'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.'"

"I think they smell bitter, actually."

"I get the sense that most things are for you."

"I'm hurt, truly."

"Why should that bother me? I don't know you."

"Would you like to?"

Clary lifted a brow. "Are you flirting with me?"

"If you'd like."

"I have a boyfriend," she said.

"That doesn't affect me."

"I don't see how it would."

"Then why say it?"

"To keep you from flirting with me."

"Should I stop then?"

"If you'd like."

"So why is your mom in a coma?" Jace asked suddenly.

"I don't think that's really any of your business, to be honest."

"Because she was fine when we saw her. People don't generally just fall into comas for no reason-especially shadowhunters. We have great immune systems."

"My mom is none of your business."

"And you were being so open and friendly just a moment ago. Is your family a tough subject?"

"No. But it's not your business, Jace-ah! That's it!" She gasped. She ripped the sketchbook out of her bag and and opened it to where the golden page sat between the sketch of a ravenour demon and a half-done sword.

Clary unfolded the page and showed it to Jace. "It's you and Alec." She knew he was seeing the same picture, but it was different in his eyes.

Jace saw a drawing done by a strange girl that showed him and his brother/friend in absolute detail-right down to the scars on Jaces hand and the wear in Alec's clothes.

He stared, unblinking. "How…"

Clary stayed silent. She had no idea.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: do you guys want to see Maia and Kyle? I hadn't thought about it until I started writing, and was halfway through writing the first sentence XD

Also if there are more type-os than usual, I am sorry in advanced. Yesterday was my 21st birthday and I'm a little lightheaded this morning lol please forgive me. My birthday is also the reason the last chapter ended kind of suddenly: I wanted to post it before going out so my best friend wouldn't kill me :)

ENJOY THIS CHAPTERornotwhateveridontcareeitherway

Chapter Eight

Clary was sitting on the cot in the infirmary. She was alone in the room, but she could faintly hear Jace talking outside. Though she couldn't hear the words, she knew what they were. Apparently, even shadowhunters find it unusual when someone draws a picture of someone they've never seen before. He was showing Alec, Isabelle, and Maryse the drawing and telling them what she'd said about it-how it wasn't finished.

It was weird to know that people were talking about her though. It kind of felt like she was an experiment or a lab rat-at least they hadn't stuck her in a glass box and stared at her. She didn't know much about shadowhunter procedure, but even that would have been a bit much. It was in the same area as kidnapping, but a little harsher-just a little.

Bored of doing nothing, Clary pulled out her sketchbook again, along with her pencils-the travel set, of course. The graphite slipped across the paper and seemed to have a mind of its own as Clary got lost in her thoughts and her task.

As she drew, she thought about those weird dreams she's been having. Being kidnapped and knocked out had left her dreamless, but she'd had strange dreams twice, along with countless 'visions'-God, hadn't she been normal two days ago?

God, had it only been two days? It felt like half a lifetime ago that she'd been sitting eating pancakes with her mom and talking about boys and kissing, since she'd stayed up late and texted with Simon. Here in this strange place, being held captive by strangers, it even felt like a lifetime ago that she'd been sitting in the car talking to Jonathan.

The door of the infirmary opened, and the four shadowhunters walked in together. Maryse held Clarys drawing in her hand, which she set down on the little nightstand beside the cot. She was about to say something, but she stopped and stared wide-eyed at Clarys lap.

"Clarissa, what is that?" She said, pointing to her sketchbook. "Where have you seen it?"

Clary looked down. On the page was an oddly intricate drawing entirely of colored graphite pencils. It was some sort of chalice, gold in color, with a series of rune-like designs, though Clary couldn't tell if they were runes or just design. Beside it, half finished in grey graphite was a sketch of a box of miscellaneous items: a tarot card, an old cookbook, a gym bag, a cosmetic bag, and an old planner book.

It was the cup that drew her attention, of course. If real, she imagined it would be heavy, but about the size of a wine glass.

She shrugged. "I was just doodling."

"May I?" Maryse asked, holding out her hand for the book.

Clary handed it to her. "Why is everyone so interested in my drawings? They're good, but they aren't that good." It was meant to be a joke, but nobody so much as smiled.

"Clary," Jace said. "Where have you seen this? The cup?"

"I don't know. It's just a drawing of a cup. I don't even know if I've seen it. Why does it matter? Guys, it's just a cup."

"It's the Mortal Cup," Maryse said. "It's a precious object to shadowhunters, and one of the three Mortal Instruments."

"It's a cup." Clary said.

"Yes, but not just any cup," Jace told her. "That cup, the real one of course, not the drawing. The Mortal Cup, when used correctly, can be used to turn mundanes into shadowhunters."

"Or control demons," Alec added.

Clary blinked. "Those are two very different things for a cup to do, even if it is a magic cup."

"It's the cup that the Angel gifted to Jonathan Shadowhunter," Jace said. "I'm sure you know the story. He gave him the Mortal Cup to create shadowhunters, then the Mortal Sword and the Mortal Mirror-but nobody knows where that is. It's been lost to time."

"Well, I am a shadowhunter," Clary said. "Even if I don't look it. It shouldn't be so weird that I know what the cup looks like."

Jace shook his head. "You don't understand. We don't have the cup-it was stolen sixteen years ago, and no one knows where it is. And with your memory thing, you shouldn't be able to even recognize it."

"Wait," Maryse said, looking between Jace and Clary. "What 'memory thing'?"

"She can't recall anything from before she was twelve," Jace said. "She and Jocelyn disappeared around that time and have been living as mundanes."

"I have a block on my mind," Clary told Maryse. "That's what my father said."

"Valentine?" She asked. "I hadn't realized you'd spoken to him. You hadn't mentioned that he was in town either; only Jonathan."

"I was a little busy being kidnapped."

Maryse ignored her. "Perhaps Valentine can shed some light, perhaps whatever took your memory. If we could recover them, they could be very useful."

"I haven't done anything. My memories are only useful to me."

"I'll send for Valentine to join us." She looked at Clary. "Once we have everything sorted out, you can leave with your father."

"Thanks for that, but I really don't need your consent to leave with him."

Maryse left without acknowledging her again. Alec followed her out, but Isabelle and Jace stayed.

Once they were gone, Isabelle sat on the end of the cot. "So you really don't remember anything?"

"Before two days ago I'd never even seen a rune."

"Doesn't Jocelyn have them?"

"She was raised in Alicante as a shadowhunter," Jace said. "Of course she has them."

Clary shrugged. "When I saw her at the hospital I saw them on her, yeah. But before that I never did."

"Must be a strong block," Isabelle said. "To forget runes and such even as you see them...it's powerful. Who could have put it there?"

"My father told me it was a warlock."

Jace looked away in thought. "A warlock willing to help a somewhat rouge shadowhunter? Let's see...Magnus Bane, if they were in good standings and if she had the money...Ragnor Fell has always been in good standings with the Fairchilds, and Malcolm Fade with the Morgansterns…Theresa Grey, perhaps with assistance, but she's been working with the Iron Sisters, so that kind of act might be some violation of the Accords…" He shook his head. "I'm sure there are others, but none of them are even nearly powerful enough."

"Or old enough," Isabelle added. "Tessa isn't old enough, but she's learned from Magnus, so she may have the know-how."

"Tessa," Clary said without thinking. "I was supposed to call her."

They blinked at her. "Did you?" Jace asked.

She shrugged. "Honestly? I don't remember." This wasn't a true lie, since the whole encounter the other night was a blur. The real question was whether or not Tessa had known she'd tried. She would have to be able to check her call history, and for that she would need her phone.

"Do you have her number?"

"Not off the top of my head, no," Clary said.

He rolled his eyes. "Is her number in your phone?"

"It's a new phone."

"That's not what I asked."

"I don't have my phone."

"That's also not what I asked."

"I can't say, then."

He rolled his eyes again. "Maryse has it." He sighed. "I'll go tell her." He looked at Isabelle. "You mind hanging out for a bit?"

She shrugged. "Nothing better to do."

Jace left.

"So do you have any runes?" Isabelle asked after a long minute of silence.

"No."

"Oh, right. You were twelve when you left." She shrugged. "That's normally when we get our first."

"I know."

"You do?" She looked surprised.

"Jonathan told me."

"Oh. Of course. I thought it was weird that you knew stuff about shadowhunters. Honestly, it kind of threw me off."

"Isabelle?"

"Yeah?"

"Are Jace and Alec your brothers?"

"Why?"

"Because you and Alec look like Maryse, and Jace doesn't look anything like you guys. But he said he was a Lightwood. It's just been bugging me."

"Alec is my brother, and Maryse is our mother, yes. Jace is my brother too, but we adopted him."

"Is he your cousin or something?"

"No, but his family was close with ours. His parents died when he was young, so he came to live with us. His parents would have wanted him to." She shrugged. "But he's been here since he was eight or something, so he's become my brother."

"What about your father?"

"He's in Idris."

"Up until yesterday I thought my father was dead. That's what my mom told me."

"Jonathan too?"

"She told me I was an only child."

"So you woke up yesterday and suddenly had a father and brother, and a mother in a coma, unable to explain why you couldn't even remember them?"

"Basically."

"Wow. You know, I'm surprised you and Jonathan are so close, considering you don't remember him at all."

"My heart remembers him," Clary said. "It's my head that doesn't. Same with my father."

"'The heart wants,'" Jace said, suddenly walking in. "'What the heart wants.'" He sat on the same cot as before. "Your father is on his way." He tossed something on the cot beside her. "And you can have this back."

It was her phone, fully charged. "Thanks." No new notifications. Of course not-her mom was in a coma, Simon knew she was dealing with things,she and Jonathan hadn't exchanged numbers yet.

"Well," Jace said suddenly, standing back up. "This is fun and all, but I'll be in the training room."

"Wait, that's no fair!" Isabelle said. "You can't just leave me-besides, mom said we both have to stay with Clary."

Jace held up a finger. "Actually, she said we should both stay with Clary. A suggestion is not an order."

"Jace!"

He sighed. "Well why don't we all go then? I'm sure Clary could use a few tips."

"At what?" Clary asked.

"Training," he said, like it was obvious. Seeing her expression, he continued. "Weapons training, battle art...you know, shadowhunter training. In the training room."

"I'd rather draw," she said.

"You can if you like, just not here. Come on."

Sighing, Clary grabbed her stuff and followed Jace and Isabelle, feeling like a pet.

They walked through hallways and up stairs, coming to a stop at a door that looked exactly the same as all of the others. It opened to a big open room the size of an Olympic pool.

One wall had weapons of all degrees-swords, ninja stars, chakrams, knives, daggers, maces, staffs, battle axes, whips, and arrows. Another wall was painted with a red target, worn from being stabbed repeatedly. There was a rock wall along the third wall, which also had a door that was open, and Clary saw what looked to be a gym-style locker room with shower stalls. Throughout the room were gym mats, more targets, punching bags, wooden pillars covered in cuts, and a lonely treadmill in the corner with a newer-looking stereo on it.

"You can do whatever you like," Jace told Clary. "Draw or whatever, or join in." He looked to Isabelle. "Wanna spar with me?"

"Sure." She shrugged.

They went to the wall of weapons and each selected their manual death machine of choice. Isabelle picked out a metal staff, and Jace went with a set of twin blades. Clary, meanwhile, sat against the wall beside the door and pulled out her sketchbook. She tested a few colors for tone, selected a sharpened pencil, and started to draw.

In front of Clary, on a gym mat, Jace and Isabelle established their codes of conduct and began to dual.

Isabelle, in her black crop top with lace up sides and leather corset-accented jeans, lashed out at Jace with her staff. Jace blocked by crossing his blades and jumping backward. He jumped to the side and made a swipe at Isabelle, who dropped almost flat to the mat and kicked out one of his legs. He backflipped, landing back on his feet, and rushed her. Her staff connected with his shoulder and he gasped and slashed at her. She jumped back to avoid getting cut, and ended up on her back.

"My point," he said, grinning like a little boy.

"Lucky shot," Isabelle grumbled, accepting his hand to help her up.

"What if you get hurt?" Clary asked suddenly, not looking up from her sketchbook.

Jace shrugged. "We just use an iratze."

"Even if you get stabbed?"

"Even if we get stabbed."

"Huh."

Isabelle looked at Clary, then Jace, then Clary again. "Clary," she said. "Do you want to try? You're a shadowhunter, so you should be able to fight, right?"

Clary looked up. "Oh, no. I don't have any experience with that kind of stuff."

"Of course you do!" Jace said. "You were raised like us. Your body remembers things your brain doesn't."

"Come on," Isabelle said. "It'll be fun!"

Sighing, Clary dropped her pencils onto her book and closed it gently. "Fine. Trying won't hurt. But I don't think I can fight."

It turned out that she was right. Her movements were clumsy even without a weapon. Isabelle allowed that perhaps a staff wasn't her ideal weapon, and that it was possible that the block in her mind was stronger than they realized.

"It's lack of practice," Jace said bluntly. "And a lack of responsibility." He clapped a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry, Clary. You'll get there."

"If you want to," Isabelle said quickly. "Nobody can force you to train as one of us, even if you are one of us."

Clary shook her head. "No, I want to. Maybe I'll never use it, but I should know how to fight."

"So you actually want to learn?" Jace said, hiding his shock with sarcasm. "Are you sure you don't just want to play with your coloring book?"

Her glare shut him up fast.

He cleared his throat. "Um, how about we start with something easy? Like...target practice."

"Fine by me."

Before anything more could be said, the door opened and Alec stuck his head in. "Isabelle? Mom wants you." He gave a nod to Clary and Jace before disappearing, Isabelle following behind him.

Jace walked to the wall of weapons and put his blades back, then grabbed a few simple-looking knives. Clary followed him toward the target painted on the wall, stopping about ten feet away.

"Okay, so I'll do one, and then explain the motions," he said.

He held the knife up, made a brief show of weighing it in his hand, then threw it into the targets center.

He proceeded to explain the center of gravity, body position, breathing technique, aim, and the throw itself. He repeated the throw, and retrieved the two knives.

"Ready to give it a shot?" He asked, holding one out to her.

She took it, weighing it in her hand the way he had.

"Got it?" He asked.

"I think so."

"Good. Now take your stance, aim and throw."

She did. The knife stabbed into the outermost ring, trembled for a moment, then fell to the floor.

"That was good," he said. "It fell out, but keep in mind that in almost every situation, it'll be hitting something more porous than wood." He went to pick the knife up. "The center of the target is idea, but in most cases, anywhere on the greater target will work for you, so hitting the center isn't the main thing." He stabbed the target, hard, where Clary had hit. From where she was standing, it was clearly visible. "This time, try aiming for the same spot, okay?" He handed it back to her.

Repeating the steps again, the knife hit just beside the mark that Jace had made, but fell to the floor once again.

"Good!" He grinned. "Aim is good." He handed her another knife. "Now, try to hit the first spot again, but this time put more force. Use your whole body." He demonstrated empty handedly. "We want it to stick."

Clary wasn't normally so impatient, but she felt like throwing a knife shouldn't have been such a difficult skill. Her motions were clumsy and too fast with her next throw, and Jace noticed. It fell.

He handed her a third. "Stance," he said. He stepped toward her. "Okay, straighten your spine." He slid behind her, adjusting her arms, keeping hold right below her wrists. "When you throw, move this way," he moved her arms, and she moved her body to follow. "Try not to think of it as a knife. Think of it as an extension of your arm. From the moment you take hold of it until the moment it reaches the target, the knife is a part of you. You have control over it, not the other way around. Now, breathe in, and release the knife with your breath." He stepped back.

Be the knife, Clary thought. Ha. But she did as instructed. Carrying her body through the throw, she watched as the blade buried itself into the mark, trembled a moment, then stilled. She straightened, gasped, and then pumped her first in the air. "Yes!"

"Good!" Jace said. She looked at him, and he was smiling. "See? You're a natural. Before you know it, that knife will be a seraph, and the target will be a demon. A demon you would have just killed."

Though the idea was gruesome, Clary grinned.

She continued to throw, aiming where Jace indicated, with success. He would occasionally adjust her stance from behind, give her demon-killing pointers, and Clary found herself engaged.

Jace was a good teacher. She didn't hang on his every word, but she knew the instruction would stick with her.

Once he was satisfied with her knife throwing, they moved on to swords. It was difficult because the swords were an awkward length for her, being so short, but she quickly got the hang of it.

She was so focused on her task that she didn't even noticed when the door opened behind her. Jace noticed, but he pretended not to.

"Now aim for the center of the target. Right in the middle."

Taking a breath, Clary stepped back, took the stance that now felt comfortable, and let the sword fly from her hand, hitting the center and burying the blade halfway into the wood. It didn't tremble.

Behind her, there was a small applause. Clary jumped about a foot into the air and spun around. Standing in front of the open door was Isabelle, Alec, Maryse, Valentine, and Jonathan. They all looked impressed.

"Wonderful job," her father said, going forward to put a hand on her shoulder. "You're a natural, Clary."

She beamed at him. "Thank you!" She looked at Jonathan, who had followed their father. "Hey."

He hugged her. "That wall didn't even know what hit it."

A silent image flashed across Clarys eyes. It was her and Jonathan in a yard she didn't recognize. They were standing in front of a target painted into a massive tree trunk, embracing. Over his shoulder, a sword was up to its hilt in the center of the target. She felt his words in her heart: that tree didn't even know what hit it, Clary.

Back in the training room, Clary suddenly felt something else. Though she knew it was cheesy, it was true that she felt like she belonged.

She felt in that moment that she was a shadowhunter. Simultaneously, there was an odd itching sensation on the back of her hand and over her heart. Runes flashed across her vision, their meanings bright in her head. Clairvoyant Sight and Angelic Power. When she looked around, she could see Clairvoyant Sight on the hand of everyone else in the room, and Angelic Power just slightly through the thin white of Jonathan's shirt. Peeking down, she saw her own blank hand, and felt more than saw the absence of runes on her skin.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Five years ago

Clary sat on a bench in the garden with her sketchbook the was too big for her. She was drawing the fountain in front of her, trying to get the face right on the mermaid. Faces were hard, and it didn't help that the mermaids face was so high up. Thankfully, father had had it cleaned so she could draw it, which made it a little easier.

On the other side of the yard, she could see her mother and father strolling together on the path. It was a beautiful day, and she suddenly wished she had decided to draw them instead. They looked so happy and in love, picturesque in the sunlight of the midmorning.

"Watcha doing?" Jonathan asked, suddenly sitting beside her. The sunlight made his hair look lighter than usual.

"Drawing the fountain," Clary said, smiling as she showed him. "I can't get her face right."

"Do you need to get closer?" He asked. "It can't be easy to see."

"Yeah, but I'm not allowed to climb on it, remember?" She's tried the week before and had almost broken her arm. Mother had been furious, enough to threaten to get the fountain removed-father had vetoed the idea because the fountain had been part of the Morganstern garden since the manor was built. He'd had it cleaned to settle the matter, and made a show for mother of banning Clary from climbing it.

"Well you don't have to climb to get a better look. I can help!"

"I wish I could just do a far-sighted rune." Clary sighed, looking her her brothers hand.

He shook his head. "You just want a rune that stays. Come on." He took her hand and pulled her up, placing her book on the bench. He had her face the fountain and stood behind her. "Ready?"

"Yeah but what are-eek!" Jonathan placed his hands on his sisters waist and lifted her onto his shoulder in a single motion, wrapped one arm over her thighs and holding her calf with the other.

"Better?" He asked.

She giggled, looking down at him. "Jonathan!"

"Do you need me to move?"

She looked at the mermaid. "Yeah, just a little bit forward." He took two steps closer. "Perfect!" After staring at the mermaids face for a few seconds, she nodded. "I think I have it."

"Clary! Jonathan!" Mother cried, rushing over. "What in the name of the Angel are you doing?!"

"Looking at the fountain," Jonathan said. "Clary couldn't see it well, and she can't climb it."

Clary nodded. "He's just helping me."

"Jonathan," father said calmly, putting a hand on mothers shoulder. "Put your sister down, please. You're making your mother nervous."

"It's not like I'm gonna drop her!" He said, but still he knelt so Clary could jump down-jump because even when kneeling, he was way too tall for her feet to touch the ground.

"Please be careful, you two," father said. "Please. Jonathan, I know you have marks now, but you cannot control it yet. Your blood is strong, but your body isn't ready for it yet. And you," he pointed at Clary. "Have no runes and are breakable. Falling from even that height could ruin your body for fighting forever. I would hate to see you unable to draw with broken fingers."

Her eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, and she wrapped her arms around herself, something she did to keep from being scared. Jonathan wrapped an arm around her.

"I would never drop her!" Jonathan said, clearly upset. "I love her too much, and love make us stronger-you told us that, father! Love is strength, and strength never fails!"

Sighing, Valentine dropped to his knees and took a child's hand in each of his own. "I know, Jonathan, and it's true. But to keep you both safe, you need more strength than you have at twelve. When you get older, you will have the strength to keep your sister safe, but you have to train for that. And you want to be sure that your sister is safe right? And Clary, I know you would feel terrible if you had fallen and Jonathan had been hurt. You want to make sure he is safe too. You two are a team, and you must protect each other. Do you both understand?"

They nodded.

"Good. Now, your mother and I are going inside to get lunch, and will call you in when it's ready. Please be safe, okay? Don't do anything reckless." He stood up, and went to take his wife's hand.

When they were out of ear shot, Clary and Jonathan sat down.

"Aren't we supposed to be reckless?" Clary asked. "We're going to be killing demons in a couple years, isn't that reckless?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I think it might only be reckless if you don't have the right training. So when you become, I don't know, sixteen or something, it's not reckless anymore."

"That makes no sense. Killing things that are trying to eat you is always reckless."

"Yeah, but it's our job, so it's not as reckless as other things."

"Like climbing on fountains and up trees and on the roof and being picked up?"

"I don't make the rules, Clary."

"But you should understand them."

"I think climbing on fountains and stuff is a different kind of reckless, Clary. Mother and father don't want us to do that kind of reckless stuff." He shrugged. "But it's not like I would have dropped you, so I don't know why that's reckless."

"I don't know, but I got a good look at her face so I think it was okay. We didn't break any rules." She smiled, then tilted her head. "Jonathan, do you think I'll be a good shadowhunter?"

"Why would you ask that? You'll be a great shadowhunter!"

"I'm scared that I won't be. I can't even see a statues face without help. Am I too small to be a shadowhunter?"

Jonathan shook his head. "You just have to know how to fight and use being small to your advantage. Mother isn't very tall, so I'm sure she'll be able to show you how."

"Mother is taller than me though."

"Yes, but you're only eleven. You'll get taller. I promise."

She beamed. "I want to be as tall as you and father!"

He laughed. "I don't think that you'll get as tall as me. Mother was a Fairchild, and Fairchild girls don't get tall."

"Do Morganstern girls get tall?"

"Sorry, Clary, but there aren't really any other Morganstern girls, and Grandmother is small too." Seeing his sisters pout, he put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry though! You know I'll protect you, Clary! I'll always be by your side, and I won't let anyone hurt you because you're smaller than them. I promise! Plus, I saw this picture and one of the guys was tall and the other was short, and they made a perfect team because of it."

"Were they parabatai?"

"Yeah."

Clary thought for a second, then looked serious. "We should be parabatai, Jonathan. We're always going to be together and protecting each other. Love would make the parabatai bond stronger, and being parabatai would make our love stronger. It would make us the best shadowhunters ever!"

He grinned. "You really want to? Being parabatai can be kind of hard, but I would be your parabatai, Clary."

"Do you think mother and father will let us?"

"They don't have to. Once you're twelve, we just have to tell the Clave, and we can do it. Then, nobody can ever take us apart, and we'll always be together!"

"So you really want to be my parabatai?"

"Of course, Clary. You know I'll always protect you and keep you safe."

Present day

Clary sat against the wall in the hallway of the Institute, across from the massive library. She'd spent a few long minutes telling Maryse, her father, and everyone else about the last four years with her mother. She told them how everything before that was so vague that it was like her life didn't start until she was twelve. She told them every city they'd lived in, the people her mother had met in the streets. She told them about how she'd never seen runes on her mother until she was in the hospital, and never on anyone before she'd woken up to meeting her brother. She told them what she could about her dreams, the drawings, and the runes. She told them about the small flash visions, the feelings about things that were true, and the way she seemed to just know what runes meant.

After all that, she had sat and listened to her father and Maryse talk. She'd asked to leave the library until they needed her or they could leave, and had been sitting in the hall since then. It had been twenty minutes already, which she had spent texting Simon.

Simon: we should get coffee tomorrow

Clary: just us?

Simon: Jonathan can come if he wants idc

Clary: I'll ask him but I kinda hope he says no

Simon: why?

Clary: because I'd like to just be with you

Simon: oh! Well you don't have to invite him then. We can just go alone

Clary: maybe. I'd like that

Simon: do you just miss me?

Clary: and stuff

Simon: oh okay. Stuff is good. I like stuff

Clary: stuff with me?

Simon: is kissing you considered stuff?

Clary: only if you like it

Simon: I like stuff with you

Clary: me too. Stuff is good. I like stuff.

Simon: good to know we both like kissing you

Clary: haha kissing is better with another person

Simon: I feel better about that

Clary: it helps that I like you haha

Simon: kissing you would still be nice even if I didn't like you

Clary: now I have no way to gauge if you still like me

Simon: haha you won't have to!

Clary: you're making me blush

Simon: cute

"You okay?" Jace said, coming out of the library and seeing her.

She put her phone down. "I'm good. How's it going in there?"

He shrugged. "It's boring. Your father couldn't get a hold of Tessa, so Maryse is leaving a message for her. It's all back and forth because we can't really know anything until...well until something happens." He sat down next to her. He was close enough that Clary could feel the heat of his body, but not close enough to touch.

"Sounds boring. It was boring when I left."

"It hasn't changed. There's nothing we can do until we know who put that block on your mind, or until your mother wakes up."

"Jace…" She paused, hesitant. "Did my mom do something wrong?"

"We don't know. There's a lot of things we don't know. But I can tell you that you haven't done anything wrong."

Her phone buzzed, but she ignored it. "My mom isn't a bad person. She had reasons for taking me away, and I know they aren't bad. I just don't know what they were."

"We don't know why. Shadowhunters are always innocent until proven guilty, but kept under watch until proven innocent. Your mother may be in a coma, but we still have eyes on her to be safe. It could be that she was running and took you and couldn't go back-we just don't know, Clary."

Her phone buzzed again, this time it was a call.

"You should answer that," Jace said. "It's annoying."

Rolling her eyes, Clary picked up her phone and answered it without looking at the ID. "Hello?"

"Clary?" A woman's voice said.

"Yeah, who's this?"

"Sorry, my name is Tessa. Are you inside of the New York Institute right now?"

"Why?"

"Well, because I am on my way there; I've just gotten off with Maryse Lightwood, and I have news. It's about your mother, so I wish to tell you first. It's against the wishes of the Clave, but she is your mother, and my information."

"What about Jonathan?"

"It's rather sensitive, so I would prefer it to be you alone. Or, rather, not you and your brother."

Clary looked at Jace, then away. "But someone would be okay?"

"Not ideal, surely, but yes. If you would like to make my acquaintance just outside of the Institute in five minutes, I will be concise."

"Okay. I'll be there." She hung up, then looked at Jace. "Wanna go on an adventure?"

He shrugged. "It's better that being in there."

They stood up. "Someone is meeting us outside."

He raised a brow. "Okay? Uh, the door is this way, on the first floor."

They walked down the hall a bit, turned a few corners, and got into a rickety elevator. Oddly, the room they came to was a massive thing with pews and candelabras and an alter adorned with a statue of an angel holding a sword and a cup-the mortal cup. Clary had never been the religious type, but she's gone to church a few times over the last four years. This looked like the main sanctuary of a church, though the kind of church people go to in movies, not real life.

Jace didn't pause in leaving the elevator, and led Clary straight to a set of huge doors that looked harder to pull open than Jace made it seem.

Outside, Clary recognized the building as the old cathedral she'd seen in the cab with Simon when they'd first met up. Interesting…

Coming into the gates of the Institute, shimming as she did, was a pale young woman, probably no older than twenty, with brown hair and gray eyes. She wore jeans and a cute oversized sweater the color of fresh snow. She smiled when she saw Clary.

"Clary!" She said. She had an English accent, and a pretty voice. "It's good to see you again-I'm sure though that you don't remember me." She looked at Jace. "And I'm certain you don't remember me at all, Jace. I've done my best to avoid this kind of meeting. I was there when you were born!"

He blinked at her. "Uh, I wouldn't imagine you would either."

"Sorry," she smiled. "I'm Tessa Grey."

"Oh!"

Clary looked between them. "Do you know each other?"

Tessa shook her head. "Not technically, no. We are relatives though, however distant. Jace is my…" She counted quickly on her fingers. "Great great great grandson." She smiled proudly, then waved her hand. "It doesn't matter though. I'm clearly not here for Jace-although if you'd like, I can tell you about your birthmark! Anyway, Clary, I think it would be best to be quick about this."

"Wait, about what?" Jace asked.

Tessa blinked. "I thought it best to tell Clary personally about what I know, so that she can process it all."

He looked between them. "That's what this is about? I don't think the Clave would approve…"

"Whyever not? Everything I am about to say will be repeated in the building behind you to other shadowhunters. I just think Clary should know first. It will be a lot to take in-I saw Clary and Jocelyn one time four years ago and it's a lot for me to swallow. May I?" She looked at Clary, then Jace, then back at Clary.

"By all means," Jace sighed. "We're listening."

She nodded, and looked at Clary again. "I was visiting a friend, and your mother tracked me down, saying that she needed my help. She told me-and mind you, I only recently realized that she was lying-that Valentine had stolen the mortal cup and was planning to do something awful. She said that you had learned of it and that he was going to kill you to keep you from saying anything. Jocelyn realized that the only way to keep you safe was to hide among mundanes. She asked me if I would conceal your memories and keep you from remembering your life in the shadow world, saying it was the only way to keep you safe. I told her that memory magic is very difficult, and especially for me. The only way I would be able to do it would be to keep the entire shadow world hidden from you, to make you forget it even as you saw it. She told me that it was alright and begged me to do it. It worked, and I replaced the space with a vague idea of moving around because she asked me to-so that when she moved to keep you safe from Valentine, it wouldn't be an odd thing.

"I also procured her an emergency back-up plan. Since your memories were not a threat, she needed to be able to make hers void as well. I gave her a potion that she was to take if Valentine came for her, and told her that I would keep you safe from him. I told her from the beginning to simple go to the Clave for protection in exchange for information, but she said that she had no proof and that Valentine was too clever. I kept my eyes open and informed her of his movements. Anyway, the potion was meant to make her unconscious and unwakeable so that she would be in no danger.

"I was visiting London when I got your message, and returned only this morning-I was finding a Portal immediately after hearing from Valentine himself, that you were with him and safe. I knew something was odd because Jocelyn had made him out to be your enemy. Valentine told me that you were with Jonathan, that you didn't remember them, and that you had a block on your mind. I told him what I knew and he soon received word from Maryse Lightwood-whose family, might I add, I also know very well. Anyhow, I portaled here as soon as I could, and spoke with Valentine and Maryse briefly. I called you as soon as I was close." She frowned. "I'm sorry Clary. But it seems that...that your mother was the person who stole the mortal cup. She is planning something bad." She perked slightly. "I can tell you, however, that because she took that potion, she can't complete it. I can also tell you that whatever it is that she was planning to do, hasn't been done yet."

"Are you sure?" Clary asked. "About everything?"

She nodded. "I'm afraid so. But the fact that she hasn't carried anything out is a good thing. Oh!" She snapped her fingers. "I can also tell you that she's been working with someone else. I'm not sure how, but she isn't the only person involved. It's actually possible that she could have a handful of people on her side-most probably who have no idea what's going on, or what she's really up to."

There was a knot slowly forming in Clarys chest. "Can you wake her up?"

Tessa shook her head. "I'm sorry. The potions antidote can only be made by the one who made the potion, and it wasn't me. I'm honestly more of a shadowhunter than a warlock. You'll have to ask the person who made it."

"And who would that be?" Jace asked.

"I got it from Magnus Bane. You'll have to ask him-and hope he's actually the creator. Potions and things trade hands often among warlocks with minimal resistance, I'm afraid." She shrugged.

"And my memories?"

"I'm sorry. I can't remove the block. It's designed to stay, but can be taken away by the correct warlock. The only problem is that, I mean, I could try, but the reason you want it gone is so you can find the cup. If I attempt to remove the block, you won't be able to recover the shadow world memory of the last four years. And should I tamper with it, those memories will be lost."

"Would Magnus Bane be able to?" Jace asked.

"Magnus is skilled in memory removal. If you want the job done right, so that you can recall where your mother out the cup, I suggest a visit to Malcolm Fade, the High Warlock of Los Angeles. He's the only warlock I know who would be able to do it without a doubt."

"Los Angeles?" Clary groaned. "This is so much harder than it needs to be."

"It's actually easier," Tessa said. "Because I created the block to last completely until someone removed it. Really, you shouldn't even be able to see me, or this place. In fact, you shouldn't even remember the word 'shadowhunter.'" She shrugged. "Imagine that. I can't tell you why it's fading in some places. I wish I could."

Clary nodded. "Thank you, Tessa. I...appreciate that you told me. I would have probably lost it in there."

"No problem. Speaking of, I should probably go inside and tell everyone else." She started to walk away, but Jace stopped her.

"What did you mean about my birthmark?"

She turned and pointed to her collarbone. "You know, the star?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Because everyone in your family has it. It's a great story, but the shortened version is that I turned into the Angel Itheriel, and touched William Herondale, creating a mark of Heavenly Fire. Once I was myself again, crisis averted, we went home and I ended up marrying him." She winked. "A lot of other stuff happened, but that's the gist of it." And then she made her way up the steps of the institute and disappeared through the door.

Jace and Clary stared at the door for a long time before sighing and shaking their heads.

"Wow," Jace said. "I can't wait to hear the long version of that story."

Clary laughed once. "Let me know what that happens. I highly doubt I want to hear the other half of my moms story."

"If it gets us the cup…"

"It's just a cup," Clary said.

"No it's not."

"I'm pretty sure it is, but you're the one who knows everything."

"Now that I know about my birthmark, I basically do."

"Do you know what we're gonna do now?"

"Yes, but I'll let you take the reins on it."

"What are we doing?"

"Waiting for everyone else to hear the story, then come up with a group plan. Maryse will probably go to Idris to tell the Clave-Valentine may go with her. We are all going to be told to stay put and not do anything reckless, an order we will most definitely break, and probably almost get us all killed at some point or another trying to get your memories back and find the cup." He paused and looked at Clary. "What?"

"Nothing," she said, hiding her smirk by looking away.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Clary found herself back in the training room, alone this time. Jace had shown her back, then headed to the library to join the others as Tessa recounted what had happened four years ago, and the things she had not understood at the time.

She couldn't believe it. Jocelyn, her mother, the woman who had loved her and raised her, was, for lack of better words, a bad guy. She was a villain of the shadow world, the shadowhunters, and the Clave. Clary didn't really care about the Clave, but she knew they were on the same side.

The side against her mom, apparently.

But it didn't seem right, looking back. When she thought of her mom, she remembered learning to write cursive, to solve complicated algebra equations, painting in the living room, eating pancakes for no reason, talking about boys, and watching Once Upon a Time every week. She remembered her mom crying while watching Titanic, and getting angry enough to shake when watching the news when they talked about war and terrorism and dogs being left in hot cars. Jocelyn didn't have a mean bone in her body-she couldn't even ground Clary when she did something bad!

Yet, stealing the mortal cup would have been treason against her people! Treason seemed out of bounds for the woman Clary knee, but everything seemed pointed at her.

If it was all true, Clary thought, maybe she didn't want her mom to wake up from her coma. Sure, the Clave would have their cup back, and Clary would still have her brother and father...but it would all be at the price of losing her mom. It would mean having to accept that her mom was bad, that she was capable of lying, stealing, treason, and worse-which depended on what her plan had been.

Sighing, she grabbed a handful of knifes and stood in front of the target.

"Focus on the act," she told herself aloud. "Don't think about mom. Think about being a shadowhunter."

So she did.

Inside the library:

Jonathan had been surprised to see Tessa-well, more surprised that she was so young. He had seen his fair share of warlocks, but it still shocked him that they looked so human. It wasn't the shadowhunter stigma or anything, it was that the word 'warlock' felt like it implied more then, say, a twenty-year-old girl with brown hair and jeans-even if her name was Tessa, a perfectly normal name.

He listened intently as Tessa told them about his mother: how she'd lied about her father and sister, begged to have Clarys memories removed, and portrayed himself and his father as criminals. He became angrier and angrier, and then suddenly confused.

"Wait," he said suddenly when Tessa paused to take a breath. "Did you just say you met Clary in the summer?"

She blinked at him. "The beginning of September, yes. Why?"

Jonathan looked at him father, then back at Tessa. "Because Jocelyn and Clary disappeared right after Christmas. If Clary knew what mother was doing, she would have tried to fight her. What were they doing for nine months before she asked for your help?"

The training room:

Clary sat down in the floor and stared at the painted target. A dozen knives and swords were emplaned in the center, a few more than halfway up the blades. She was panting slightly, the sides of her bangs clinging to the sweat at her temples. She felt a bit like she was floating, no longer grounded. Her life no longer made any sense.

Two days ago, everything was normal. It felt like forever ago. It felt like the life of a different person, but Clary was an onlooker to both: mundane Clary and shadowhunter Clary. She doubted even having her memories back would make it seem like one life-especially not her life.

Behind her, the door opened and she turned around to see Jonathan peering in.

"Hey," she smiled.

"Hey. Father sent me. We're going home now."

She stood up and grabbed her bag. "So what's next?"

"Father has sent a fire message to Magnus Bane to request a meeting. With any luck we should be able to see him tomorrow."

"Then we can wake up mom?" They walked down the hall.

"If Magnus created the potion that made her sleep, yes. But Tessa said those kinds of things move hands a lot, so we might have to keep looking. Hopefully he'll be able to help though."

She nodded. "Hopefully. So what's going to happen when she wakes up? If she's really stolen the cup and planned something...well, I don't know what I'm supposed to do when this is all over."

"If she has," Jonathan said slowly. "You'll have your memories back, and everything will make sense. I suppose you'll stay with us. We'll likely return to Idris to continue your training."

"What about...my life?" Clary asked. "I mean, I have a life here-school and everything."

"School's different for shadowhunters. We'll help you, don't worry."

"What about Simon?"

He sighed. "It's not definite that we'll return to Idris. If we don't, I don't mind staying in New York. It's nice. We'll have to ask father."

"I know Simon can't know about all of this, but…"

"You care about him," Jonathan said, shrugging like it was obvious. "You want to continue to have him in your life. That's not a bad thing." He stopped and put a hand on his sisters arm. "Clary, nobody is going to tell you to leave him behind. You have a say in your own life."

"I don't feel like I do. I mean, I've basically been kidnapped twice, my life has been flipped upside down, and I'm a shadowhunter. Nobody has asked my opinions on it. I mean, I'll do anything to wake up my mom, and I'm not complaining about having a family. I just…feel like I'm being pulled around and there's nothing I can do about it."

"Do you not want to be a shadowhunter? It's a hard life, Clary, but it's your life. I wouldn't blame you for wanting to continue to go to school and get coffee with your boyfriend and be a normal girl. As long as I can be a part of your life, I don't care what you decide."

"Kids," Valentine said, coming out of a door down the hall. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes, father," Jonathan said. He smiled at Clary. "Think on it. For now, let's go home."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: whats you favorite TMI ship? Show of hands in the comments or in a pm! And don't worry about judgement I just wanna know what to add more of :)

Chapter Eleven

"Clary?"

The voice of her father snapped Clary out of her blank zone, and she looked up. She was sitting on a couch in the living room with her sketchbook, and Valentine was in the hallway, stopped and watching her.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah, I'm good. I just...couldn't sleep. Drawing usually helps, but I can't stop thinking."

"I understand." He leaned against the wall, and Clary noticed a steaming mug in his hand. "You used to have trouble sleeping as a girl, and I would always find you laying on the kitchen floor with a box of crayons and notebook paper. Always the sleepless artist, you were."

Clary smiled. "That sounds like me. I also have a habit of sitting and lying on floors."

"I remember."

"What are you doing up?"

"I got a fire message that woke me. I figured I'd check on you and your brother after I got a cup of tea." He shrugged. "It helps me stay calm."

"Me too. Jasmine makes me tired."

He raised the mug. "Me as well. The water is still hot, and the tea is beside it if you decide you want some. I'm going up to check on Jonathan and get some sleep."

"Okay. Goodnight, dad!"

"Try not to stay up too late, sweetheart." He hesitated a moment before turning around and heading for the stairs.

Clary sighed. It had been a week since they'd left the Institute. Magnus Bane had been out of the country and wouldn't be back for another day, so it had been a waiting game. Clary and Jonathan had been in the back yard every day training, him teaching Clary to fight with and without weapons, while their father tried to find out more about the mysterious nine months between when Jocelyn and taken her away and when Tessa had met them.

It was still weird to have a dad in her life-a caring man doing all the parental stuff her mom had always done. Unlike Jocelyn, however, Valentine couldn't cook, so all of their meals were take-out, paid and ordered by him, picked up by Jonathan and Clary. Tonight wasn't the first night that she's had trouble sleeping, but it was the first time she'd gone downstairs to draw instead of staying in her room. She hadn't seen any lights on on her way down, so it had been a shock to see her father standing there.

She couldn't imagine how surreal it was for them, her brother and father. For her, it was a strange feeling of belonging with context, but no memory. For them...For her father, it was surely a dream to have his daughter back; to see her sitting on the couch and drawing, or having her at the dinner table. For Jonathan, it was like being reunited with a childhood best friend. He was excited and happy, eager to spend time with her without caring what the activity was-earlier in the day, he'd been grinning like a fool over sitting on the back lawn to read beside her as she drew. While it was happy to have her back, Clary wondered if it was strange at all for them to adjust to her return. It had been four years, after all.

There was a creaking as someone stepped down the stairs. Thinking perhaps her father had forgotten something, she turned her head and said, "dad?"

"Shit," a voice whispered, followed by the sound of a plastic cup dropping.

Clary stood up as Jonathan's face appeared around the corner. He sighed. "By the Angel, Clary! You scared me." He bent to pick up the cup he'd dropped. "I didn't know anyone was up."

She wiggled her pencil. "Couldn't sleep so I can down to draw."

"Oh, of course. Yeah, you just scared me. I was coming to get something other than water."

"Hey, don't let me stop you," she smiled. "I was just going back up."

"Mind waiting a minute? I just...sorry! Never mind, you can go ahead." He turned and headed for the kitchen.

Clary followed him. "You just what?" She asked, leaning against the kitchen door.

"It's dumb," he said, shaking his head as he pulled out a carton of orange juice.

"You can tell me, Jonathan." She smiled at him.

"I just...I guess I'm just paranoid, thinking if I can't see you you'll disappear again. It's stupid, I know."

Clary frowned, and went over to her brother. She took the carton from him, midpour, and put it on the counter. She took his shoulders and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close.

"I'm not going anywhere, Jonathan," she whispered. "I promise. You aren't going to lose me again, ever."

After a moment, she felt him arms around her waist, pulling her closer. His chin was on the top of her head. "I know. I'm just...afraid."

She tightened her hold on him. "Don't be. I'm right here. I'm with you, and I always will be. I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."

They held each other for a long time, standing in the darkness of the kitchen, taking comfort in each other's embrace.

Finally, Jonathan released her. He smiled. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," she said. "You're the one who found me."

They headed back upstairs, hugging once more before separating to their rooms.

Clarys room now had all of her stuff inside. The three of them had gone through the loft and packed everything but Clarys things in boxes. Her new room was bigger than she'd ever had, so her things all fit nicely with room on the walls for everything she'd never had space for. There were new things too, things from childhood that she didn't remember-personal weapons that were still the right size for her, heirlooms she'd gotten for her birthdays. Her art supplies were spread neatly across her desk, as always, and she opened her sketchbook and placed it down.

The picture she'd done of Jace and Alec before meeting them was beside it, waiting to be finished-though it had been added to in the middle of the night, and she didn't remember drawing in Isabelle beside Alec, a whip around her wrist. Clary had tried working on it, but she could barely touch it without running into a metal wall.

Sighing, Clary laid in bed with her phone. She had a text from Simon from an hour before, so she decided to see it he was still awake.

Clary: how awake are you on a scale of 1-10?

Psymon: maybe like 8? Why? You ok?

Clary: I can't sleep.

Psymon: me either. Can't turn off the brain

Clary: did you try unplugging it?

Psymon: tried but it's wireless and I can find the outlet :/

Clary: I have a backup battery apparently.

Psymon: damn. Sorry. So what's on your mind?

Clary: right now? You.

Psymon: yeah?

Clary: I miss you

Psymon: I miss you too. Busy tomorrow?

Clary: I shouldn't be.

Psymon: you know how at Java Jones the first time we talked about digimon?

Clary: you're psymon in my phone :)

Psymon: I'd call you a nerd but I ordered the first season and it just came today

Clary: ooooooooo

Psymon: I could use a marathon partner

Clary: are you asking me on a date?

Psymon: only if you say yes!

Clary: I would love to be your nerd date

Psymon: bring your digivice cuz it's gonna get real

Clary: you should know I always have it

Psymon: just wanna make sure :P

Clary: have your a-game ready cuz I'm a marathon pro

Psymon: snacks!

Clary: I'll bring drinks!

Psymon: best date ever

Clary: :)

Psymon: are you flirting with me?

Soon after, Clary fell asleep, phone in hand.

6 IN THE MORNING

Clary woke up to the sound of knocking on her door, and Jonathan saying, "Clary! Wake up, it's time for training!"

Groaning loudly, she sat up and stretched. Mid-joint-pop, she realized that she wasn't in bed, but at her desk. Dropping her arms, she realized they were covered in smeared graphite. In the barely-there light of the early morning, she could see that her hands were completely grey, fading upward all the way to her elbows. Looking on the desk, she gasped.

The picture was done.

Along with a dozen other pictures.

The original now had Clary between Jonathan and Jace; an Asian-looking man with colorful hair behind Alec, his hand filling in the spot on Alec's shoulder; Simon was beside Isabelle, covered in runes and holding a seraph blade; and another Asian-looking man with a hooded robe covered in runes stood between Simon and Jonathan in the circle that they were all making. They were surrounded by demons, dozens of them, and more seeming to pour from a rough oval of purple. Clary held a sword with stars on it that matched Jonathan's, seraph blades in her belt.

The rest of the pictures, all greyscale, were faces. Some were demons, some monsters, and some human-well, sort of, because the humans looked more like zombies.

Gasping, Clary practically fell out of her chair trying to stand up, tripping over the leg and hitting the floor. There were more faces, stabbed into the wall with the tacks she kept on the desk. Each and every face on the wall was a shadowhunter, faces dead and screaming, runes cut in half and bleeding on their cheeks and necks. But that wasn't what had made Clary fall. It was a single face in the middle of it all, right in front of the original picture. It was a woman, smiling triumphantly, standing tall with a sword half hidden behind her leg-the same sword that Clary held. Her eyes looked into the first picture, right at Clary.

It was her mom.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Jonathan and Clary sat in the car for a long time after parking outside of Simons house.

The 'band van' was parked in the driveway, but his moms car was gone, as Clary knew it would be.

"Are you sure about this?"Jonathan asked suddenly. "I know you want to see Simon, but we really should talk to father."

"We can tell him later." Clary said. "I'm kind of freaked out, and I just want to feel normal for a couple of hours."

"I know. It's just…"

"Not normal," she agreed. She'd shown Jonathan the pictures, trying not to freak out about it. The fact that's she'd drawn so much without memory of it, and the exactness of it was startling, and Jonathan had wanted to tell their father immediately. The only reason Clary had protested was because she felt somehow that it still wasn't done.

"Are you going to finish it first?" Jonathan asked now.

"I think it would be best," Clary said. "It was weird to draw Alec and Jace without having met them, but it was weirder that it wasn't finished. It doesn't make sense, but I think it might clear something up when it's all finished. A background, someone I don't know…" She shook her head. "I don't know. But if I show dad, he might take it away or move it. If it isn't done...it will be soon, and then.."she sighed. "I feel like I'm trying to tell myself something somehow. It's crazy but…"

"No, it's not crazy. It makes sense. Your memories are trying to tell you something. It's just taking longer because you have to use your own tools to understand something that you don't remember. I'm not talking about them, Jace or Alec, but the memories. Their names, the situation...if you keep going, it'll all make sense."

"It's still crazy. It's just like anyone else who has visions or whatever. It's not normal."

"You aren't normal though. It's not normal to lose your memories or have all of this stuff happen. You can only process is because the shadow of your memories let you."

"Yeah. It makes sense when you think about it that way, but in any logical way it doesn't."

"Hey," Jonathan said, taking his sisters hand. "We'll figure it out. Everything will make sense. I promise."

She smiled. "I'm pretty sure you're the only one who could make me feel better about being a freak right now."

"It's my job as your brother to make you feel better, Clary." He squeezed her hand and nudged her. "Now go have fun with your boyfriend."

She rolled her eyes. "Simon is not my boyfriend!" But she got out of the car.

JONATHAN

As he drove away, Jonathan watched Clary wave at him, and thought about Simon. He'd been in the drawing too, of course. But there was a difference that he couldn't help but notice. Everyone else looked exactly the same, even their mother. So why had Simon been different? And why had he been covered in runes? Not just any runes either-they were all shadowhunter runes, the same ones they all had.

With everything going on, he'd been wondering if perhaps the drawing was prophetic. If it really was, Simon would become a shadowhunter, and they would all be surrounded by demons and dead people, fighting while outnumbered with a Silent Brother on their side.

He hadn't told Clary that he'd recognized the two strange men as Brother Zachariah and Magnus Bane. Clary would realize as soon as she met Magnus Bane, but he wasn't sure if she would ever meet Brother Zachariah. Everyone else would recognize him as soon as they saw the drawing, and would probably have him talk with Clary about it, maybe attempt to use the Mortal Sword on her. It was for that reason that Jonathan agreed to wait until it was a finished product-if they could make sense of it, perhaps the Clave wouldn't use the Sword on his sister.

CLARY

Simon led Clary through the small house, giving her a quick tour of the place before the marathon. He'd set out chips and things on the coffee table in the living room, and they both grinned when Clary pulled a 2-liter from her purse.

They settled on the couch together, his arm around her, one of her legs over his lap. They got through the first four episodes before Clary moved to kiss him.

The open theme paused and he kissed her back, his hand on the back of her neck. She shifted so that she was sitting on her knees on the couch beside him. Her hands ran across his face, his arms, his chest, feeling him.

Simon made a sound somewhere between and groan and a sigh, and pulled his mouth from hers, lips moving to her neck. She gasped at the hotness of his mouth on her, and unthinking, threw her leg over his lap so that she was straddling him. Her arms were wrapped around his shoulder, hands in his hair. When she tugged lightly, he reacted by gentle scraping his teeth along her sensitive skin.

"Simon," she gasped, using her hands in his hair to pull his face back to hers. Kissing him, she felt like she was on fire. It was so cliche, of course, but she didn't think so in the moment. It was all breath and lips, teeth and tongues, hands and skin, everything moving together.

It was almost violent, but it felt so good.

They shifted suddenly when Clary bit Simons lower lip. His arm wrapped around her waist, and she was on her back, Simon above her, still kissing her, his hand running down her side, along the slight curve of her hip. Not thinking, only feeling, Clarys hand caught his, and led his feel up, up, and over. He paused, a slight moment of clarity and hesitation, before he started again.

Her mouth separated from his when she gasped, feeling his thumb brush over a sensitive spot, her head falling back against the couch. Simons lips were back on her neck, kissing and biting softly, still hot. His hand was moving on her breast, instinctively, while his other hand held Clarys neck, keeping her still and gasping as he kissed her.

They broke apart slowly, their slightly labored breaths mingling. The kisses slowed, becoming less heavy and more passionate, until they broke, kissed again, then pressed their foreheads together.

"Wow," Simon whispered, glasses slightly askew.

Clary giggled. "Yeah. Wow." She adjusted his glasses, then wrapped her arms around his neck.

"What brought that on?"

"The fact that we can watch Digimon and still want to kiss each other," she said. "It's basically perfect."

"Basically. I will never meet another girl like you."

"Probably not. Cherish it," she laughed. She sat up slightly. "Simon?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you officially be my boyfriend?"

He grinned. "On one condition."

She tilted her head. "What?"

"You have to be my girlfriend."

Her laugh broke off when he kissed again. When they pulled away a few moments later, she nodded. "I would love to be your girlfriend."

They kissed again before settling down together to continue their marathon.

Clary had to admit that it was pretty perfect.

LATER

It was late when Simon dropped Clary off at the house, and kissed her goodnight over the cup holders.

"Text me when you get home," she said, standing on the curb with the door open. "So I know you're safe."

He nodded. "I will."

"And don't want digimon without me!" She closed the door and watched as he drove away.

Jonathan was sitting at the kitchen counter with a box of Chinese take-out, grinning when she walked in. "How was your day?" He asked.

"Good," she Said. "We watched digimon and ate junk food."

"So boyfriend time was fun?"

She peered into the fridge, her back to him, and smiled. "Yeah, it was great." She grabbed a white box of sweet and sour chicken, and tried to hide her grin as she turned back to him.

"So he's your boyfriend now?"

She smiled.

"Who's boyfriend?" A voice said. Clary turned around to see their father walking in.

"Clary got a boyfriend."

"Oh?" He smiled, grabbing another white box from the fridge. "Who is he? That mundane boy?"

"His name is Simon," Jonathan said. "I've met him. He's a good guy."

"Good. You'll have to bring him around, Clary. I'd like to meet him."

Clary blinked. "You want to meet my boyfriend?"

"Of course. I have yet to instil the fear of God into a mundane."

"Dad!"

"I'm certain Jonathan didn't when they met. It's my job."

"I can do it, father," Jonathan said. "Besides, I'm sure Clary could as well."

He shook his head. "The fear of God is brought on by knowing another man can send you to him if you do the wrong things. It's a fathers job to remind him of that."

"He has the fear of God," Clary assured him. "He's Jewish."

"We shall see," he said cryptically, winking as he left the kitchen with his food.

"Dad!"

Jonathan laughed. "Don't worry, Clary. It's a mans dream to protect his daughter from boys."

"Is it just something that comes with being a guy?" Clary sighed.

"Yup. It's written in the male handbook. 'Protect the female as a daughter, instil the fear of God in every other male who dares to pass'. That's a real line."

"That's such bs," Clary said, laughing. "But Simon doesn't need it anyway."

"His own girlfriend could kick his ass," Jonathan agreed. "But it's still gonna happen."

"Of course it is," Clary sighed. "It's part of having a dad and a brother. The boyfriend interrogation should go without saying."

"Will it be weird for him?" Jonathan asked, titling his head. "I mean, we've kinda only been around for a week."

Clary shrugged. "Yeah, but it doesn't have to be now. I mean, technically Simon and I have been kinda dating since I met you, but we've known each other for years. We can wait a while before doing the family thing-maybe think of what we're going to tell him."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I always thought my father was dead and that I was an only child. That's what Simon was told when we met. Since he's a mundane, we can't tell him 'our mom kinda kidnapped me when I was twelve, then had my memories taken away. Oh and I'm a shadowhunter which is why there's no legal issues around my mom being in a coma and my dad finding me after four years. Oh and my mom might be evil'." She gave him a look.

He looked away, smirking. "Yeah, that might not be the best thing to say."

"We have time to think of something. I'm not in any rush to bring him over."

"What, you don't want him to meet father?"

"It's not that. I just don't need the pressure of it right now."

He nodded. "I hear you. I wouldn't want to bring a girlfriend into this mess so soon either."

"Yeah. So what have you been up to all day?" She took a bite of chicken. It was cold and sweet, the way she liked it.

"Did some training, studied some demon languages-the usual."

"You study demon language?"

"We all do. It's part of our training. I'd be teaching you, but you were more advanced than me as a kid, so I don't want to mess you up once you get your memories back."

"I think training is the main thing right now."

"Yeah. You never know when you'll need to kill something."

"Exactly. Though I'd like to learn more about runes."

"We can go over some if you'd like?"

"Sure. Oh!" He got up and went over to the little desk in the kitchen, picking up a dark leather bound book, which he handed to her after sitting back down. "That was yours. It's a copy of the shadowhunders codex. You'll need it. It's basically a text book."

Clary smiled, hugging the book to her chest. "Thank you!"

"No problem. Take your time with it. Physical training is the main thing for you right now, but you should get versed in the mental side of it."

"I will. Thanks."

"So what's digimon?"

Clary gasped. "You've never heard of Digimon?!"

"Shadowhunters aren't really versed in mundane culture."

"Oh god. Digimon is basic!"

"What is it?"

"Basically, this group of kids went to summer camp and they didn't really know each other, but somehow they got pulled through this rift or something and ended up in the digital dimension where the only inhabitants are these little digital monsters called digimon. But their world is being attacked by other, more powerful digimon who want to wreak havoc on the physical world. So all seven kids get their own personal digimon so they can save the digital world." Clary grinned. "We should watch it sometime. Simon has the whole first season on Blu-Ray."

He gave her a look. "Do you really want me to watch tv with you and your boyfriend?"

She shrugged. "Simon likes you, so it's not like it's a big deal. But I can borrow it from him and we can watch it together."

"I don't think it's really my thing."

"Your loss." She threw the empty white box in the trash and grabbed out a half-eaten thing of fried rice. "It's a great show."

"I like action," he said. "Real action."

"What about…" Clary racked her brain for titles that she couldn't mind watching again. "Oh, what about Walking Dead? It's about zombies."

"Zombies aren't real."

"Um...Supernatural was good. It's about two brothers who kill demons and monsters."

He raised a brow. "Is it realistic?"

"Not really. Demons are just, like, super evil ghosts from hell. But the monsters might be. There's angels in it too."

He shrugged. "Maybe. I've never really been into TV."

"I get it. You're just missing out."

"Probably."

Clary had weird dreams that night. She dreamt that she and Simon got attacked by demons on the street and she killed them, but Simon freaked out and left her. She dreamt that Jonathan turned into a Ravenour and Jace killed him. She dreamt that she was throwing knives at a tree with Jonathan, and then the tree was suddenly Simon, and the knives were wodden stakes and Simon had vampire fangs. She dreamt that Simon was a shadowhunter and the two of them were killing demons together outside the City of Glass.

When she woke up, her hands were cramping and covered once again in graphite, but she was laying in bed. The picture on her desk hadn't been added to, but there was a new one.

The picture was of her and Jonathan standing together inside a flaming circle, steles in hand. They looked slightly panicked. The flames were nearly as tall as Clary, and blue in color. In bold cursive around them where the words, in quotations, "WITHER THOU DIEST I SHALL DIE AND THERE I SHALL BE BURIED".

Creepy.


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The phone rang at 11:13 in the morning. Clary and Jonathan were sitting in the yard, taking in the sun as they took a break from training. Ten minutes later, Valentine stepped out the back doors and went to sit on the grass across from his children.

"What's going on?" Jonathan asked. "Has something happened?"

"Magnus Bane sent a fire message to Maryse this morning. He's back in town today."

"Great!" Jonathan said. "When are we going to see him?"

"We aren't. He said he will only speak with Clary in the presence of an Institute representative."

"What?" Clary said.

"And Maryse is to report to the Council today. The only other person available is Alec Lightwood, because he's eighteen."

"What's wrong with that?" Clary asked.

Jonathan sighed. "Nothing, technically. Magnus Bane is a High Warlock, but warlocks can still be dangerous."

"Maryse doesn't want to endanger you or her son by denying the two of you alone."

"I have to go though," Clary said. "I need my memories and I need to wake up mom."

"I know, Clary," her father said. "Maryse has spoken to Alec, and he has agreed to accompany you. The issue we see is that neither of you know what you're walking into, or if Jocelyn was...working with someone other than Tessa. Under false pretenses."

"Alec will be there though," Clary said. "And just because Magnus will only speak with us, that doesn't mean you guys won't be close, right?"

Valentine smiled. "Thinking like a shadowhunter. Yes, we will. But it may not be enough if there are tricks in hand. It could very well be dangerous."

She shook her head. "I don't care."

"Alright then." He stood up. "You two get ready. We'll try to catch Maryse at the Institute before she leaves." He went inside without another word.

When he was gone, Jonathan stood and helped Clary up. "You don't have to go, you know," he said. "It's your choice."

"I want to go. Mom is the only person who can clear up her side, unless I get my memories back. If Magnus Bane can help with either of those, it'll be worth it."

"I know. I just want you to know that you have a choice."

"Thank you," she smiled. "I know. And I'll do it."

Ten minutes later, in the shower, she wondered if it was really a good idea. She'd never met a warlock before Tessa. Were they really that dangerous?

She dressed in jeans and her Jurassic World cropped tee. She had the weapons belt Jonathan had given her, and tucked a few knives into it, just in case.

The drive to the Institute was quiet with oddly light traffic for such a nice day. Everyone was outside when they arrived, including Tessa. Maryse wasn't there though.

"Clary," Isabelle smiled when she got out of the car. "Hey!"

"Hey," she said, nodding a greeting to everyone else.

"Has Maryse already gone?" Valentine asked.

"I just sent her through," Tessa said, smiling apologetically. "Sorry."

"That's alright. I'm sure we can still proceed."

"I'm ready when you are, Clary," Alec said, sounding only slightly eager.

Valentine put a hand on her shoulder. "Perhaps we should all speak? It's ill advised for you two to actually be alone."

"You don't have to worry. Magnus Bane has a long-standing relationship with the Clave. We won't be in any sort of danger, Valentine."

"Are you certain? Because I can't risk-"

"I'm sure," Alec said. "The Inqusitor has agreed that back up is not needed. Plus, it's possible that if he feels threatened by us, Magnus won't tell us anything."

Valentine still looked unsure, so Jace stepped forward. "Alec is my parabatai. I wouldn't let him go if I thought he would be in danger."

Alec rolled his eyes, but Valentine seemed convinced. "Very well. I'll leave her in your care, Alec."

"Good." He looked at Clary. "Are you ready?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Good, because our ride is here." He nodded behind her, and Clary turned to see a taxi pulling up.

Jonathan and Valentine headed back to the house, saying they'd come back when she was ready.

The ride to Magnus Banes place wasn't very long, but not walkable.

"Have you met him?" Clary asked when they were pulling up to the converted lofts. "Magnus Bane, I mean."

"Once or twice," he said. "He isn't exactly a friend of the family, but he's known my family for a long time. You?"

"Not that I know of," she smiled.

"Right," he said. He pressed the buzzer labeled simply 'BANE'.

"Who is it?" A voice responded quickly, like it had been waiting.

"Alec Lightwood and Clarissa Morganstern," Alec said. "For Magnus Bane."

There was a buzz, then a click as the door opened. They went in, and up a flight of stairs. At the end of a hallway, a door opened and a man stepped out.

Magnus Bane looked about nineteen, Asian, and very fabulous. He wore tight, red leather pants, combat boots, and a sequined cropped tank top that said 'beaches be trippin' with a palm tree. His hair was dark, spiked, and covered in red glitter. "Alexander, Clary, come in."

Clary glanced at Alec before following him into the loft. The space was brightly lit and modern. She closed the door behind her and went to sit on the couch that Magnus indicated to. Alec sat beside her. Magnus half-sprawled across from them, pulling a cat onto his lap.

"Sorry," he said, petting the cat. "This is Chairman Meow."

"Hi," Clary said to the cat. "I'm Clary."

"He doesn't talk, I'm afraid," he said. "But I'm sure he's charmed." As he said that, the cat jumped down and padded over to Alec, sniffed his shoes, then jumped to sit on his lap. Alec reached down to pet his ears.

"Traitor," Magnus smirked. He shook his head, then looked at Clary. "So, what seems to be the problem, biscuit?"

She blinked.

Alec spoke for her. "Clary had her memories taken four years ago, and we need them back. And I'm sure you know about-"

"The potion, yes. The antidote for the one I have to Tessa. It's a bit of a mess, but I didn't make it. I got it from Malcolm Fade, the High Warlock of Los Angeles. But I know that he got it from Ragnor Fell. He'll be able to make up something for you. I'll send him a message about it, if you like."

"If you don't mind," Alec shrugged.

"As far as the memories...Tessa did your work right?" He peered at Clary. "Why couldn't she put them back?"

"She could have," Clary said. "But only what she took, which was the first twelve years of my life. But...everyone says it's my mom who stole the Mortal Cup. If it's true, I would have seen something of it in the last four. Tessa can't get the last four years of the shadow world back. That's what everyone really needs."

"And what about you?" Magnus asked, playing coy. "What do you need?"

"I need to remember my brother. That's all I care about, honestly. But…" She sighed. "I guess I have to care about the cup. I'm a shadowhunter, after all."

He shrugged. "By blood, yes. But you can always keep your brother and live as a mundane. There's no harm in it. But that's none of my business." He sighed. "I can do it. If the Clave wants their precious cup, they'll pay me well to get you what's yours," he winked at Alec. "Right?"

Alec cleared his throat and looked away. "Yeah, sure."

"Good! I'll discuss the price with Maryse." He looked at Clary. "It'll take a couple days to whip something up-sixteen years is a long time, you know. I'll call you up when it's ready." He stood up. "And Alexander, you can call me whenever you like." He made a flourish with his hand, and there was suddenly a business card in his fingers, which he handed to Alec. He took it, looking too shocked to refuse.

Magnus stood up and clapped his hands. "Good. Now that business is settled, can I offer you two a drink?"

Alec rose to his feet as well. "Sorry, but we should really get going."

"Perhaps next time?" He asked, walking them to the door.

"Maybe," Alec said.

Clary stepped out first, and turned back in time to see Magnus making a 'call me' sign at Alec, who almost blushed as the door closed.

Back outside, Clary smirked. "I think he likes you."

"He's a warlock," Alec stated, looking around.

"So? He totally wants you."

He chuckled once without real humor. "You're new to this world, Clary. There's a lot that you don't know."

"True," she said, waving down a cab. "But I know that guys don't usually blush when other guys ask them to call them." She giggled. "You're so into him, and it's adorable." Catching a glimpse of his expression, she waved him off. "Don't worry, Alec. I won't say anything. But you should totally go for it."

His mouth gaped for a moment before he shook himself and made a grunting sound.

They were halfway back to the Institute when Clary realized that she recognized Magnus Bane-he was the man in her drawing, the one standing behind Alec with his hand on his shoulder, fingers alive with blue flame.

Jonathan had mentioned something about how her drawings were almost prophetic. Sitting in the cab beside Alec, she felt suddenly desperate for her memory, needing to know if she had had prophetic tendencies before. Her brother acted like they were new, which meant that either they were, or she'd kept them hidden as a child. If she had, perhaps she was making the right choice by keeping her drawing a relative secret-even from other shadowhunters.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Jonathan watched out the window of of Java Jones. On the couch across from him, Clary sat cross legged with her sketchbook, furiously drawing. They were meeting Simon, and had arrived early to get their boost of coffee before he arrived.

"Stop fidgeting," Clary said as Jonathan reached for his coffee.

"I'm just grabbing my drink, Clary. Calm down."

"How am I supposed to draw you if every time I look up you're in a different position?" She rolled her eyes, taking a sip of her own coffee, which was nestled between her legs under her sketchbook.

"You could start by actually telling me that you're trying to draw me," he suggested, kicking his feet onto the table.

She glared at him. "You can see the book. It should be obvious."

"Clary, this place is full of couches with guys on them. How am I supposed to know that you're drawing me?"

Turning the page toward him, she said, "do any of those guys have runes? I know you can see them."

He shrugged. "It's the glamour."

She threw a sugar packed at him, laughing. "Shut up, Jonathan!"

"Make me," he grinned, throwing the pack back at her. It hit her nose and landed on her paper.

"Just sit still!" She begged.

He sighed. "Fine. How do want me?"

"Medium-well," Simon said, suddenly falling on the couch beside Clary. If she weren't a shadowhunter, her coffee would have fallen on the floor.

"Hey," she smiled, leaning over to kiss him.

"I'm more of a rare kind of guy," Jonathan said. "I mean, honestly."

"I don't like a lot of pink," Clary said, wrinkling her nose.

"With sauce," Simon grinned.

"A1," Jonathan agreed. He reached over to shake Simons hand. "Good to see you again."

"You too," Simon nodded. "Now that it's not weird that Clary has a brother."

It had been two weeks since Clary had seen Magnus Bane, and it would be another week until she would travel to Idris to meet Ragnor Fell, who had agreed to make a cure for her moms magical coma. Since then, Clary had seen Simon almost every day. Oddly, she was beginning to fall into a routine that would have never made sense before. Every morning, she woke up and started training with Jonathan; they would eat a protein-packed breakfast before heading to the Institute, where Clary would train with Jonathan and Jace-or Jonathan and Isabelle or Jonathan and Alec. The five of them, after training, would change back into their street clothes and head to Taki's for lunch, where Clary always got the coconut pancakes and a coffee. Afterword, she and Jonathan would either go home, or he would drop her off at Simons. Simon would take her home late, and she would be pestered by her father about when he would get to meet her 'fancy boyfriend'.

Today was no exception to the routine, aside from the fact that Clary had gotten onion rings with her pancakes, and that Jonathan was with her. They wouldn't be with Simon all day like she had been, because they were going to see her mom and get an update from the doctor. Though Simon lived in an area that was pretty universal, they'd decided to meet at Java Jones because it was a tiny bit closer to Beth Israel.

"So how's your mom?" Simon asked.

Clary shrugged. "The same. We're just checking in with her doctor."

"So there's nothing new?"

"Not really," she said. Other than the fact that she's probably evil, and a traitor to the shadowhunters. Oh, and the fact that she may have been planning to kill people. Besides that, nothing new. But Clary couldn't say that aloud.

"I'm sorry," Simon said. "That must be really hard for you guys. I remember when my dad was in the hospital. It was tough." He sighed. "Unlike him, I'm sure your mom will be okay."

If she's not evil… "I hope so," Clary smiled, trying not to feel guilty for lying to Simon about her mom. She wanted to, but Jonathan and their father had been adamant that she continue to appear to live a normal life-which was part of the reason that she got to see Simon so much. Jonathan had advocated that she be able to continue to see him, believing it was important for her to still have her own life.

"So what have you guys been up to?" Simon grinned, taking a drink of Clarys coffee.

Jonathan shrugged. "We have some family friends in the area, so we've been spending time with them."

The 'family friends' were, of course, Alec and Jace and Isabelle. Clary had made a point to reference them privately to Simon on the off-chance that he saw them all together. It was abnormal for Clary to have other actual friends, being that she'd been doing online school, so it made more sense that they were more like family. She'd never mentioned them pre-craziness, so when Simon had asked, she'd told him that they were on her fathers side. He'd accepted the half-lie easily enough.

"Sounds fun."

"It is," Clary smiled. "They're really into martial arts, so we've been doing a lot of that. It's really cool."

"Nice. I thought you were looking more toned," Simon grinned, poking Clarys arm.

"I am," she laughed. "I could probably kick some serious ass."

Simon leaned away, still grinning. "Note to self: don't get on Clarys bad side."

"She could take you down," Jonathan joked.

Clary shook her head. "Nah, I have you for that."

Jonathan tilted his head. "To kick Simons ass for you, or for you to kick my ass?"

"Yes."

They laughed.

"I don't know," said Simon, looking between the siblings. "I think Jonathan would win that fight."

"No way," Clary scoffed.

"Between you and me," Jonathan said, leaning toward Simon. "I would honestly let her win. Or let her think she was winning, then just over take her."

"I would totally see that coming," Clary rolled her eyes. "Besides, I would win simply because I'm smaller. You underestimate me."

"I would definitely lose," Simon perked. "Against either of you." He made a show of displaying his bicep. "I'm super wimpy." He sounded so proud of it.

"I'll let you win," Clary flirted. "At least once."

He shook his head. "No need. I'm confident in my weakness."

Clary laughed. "Would you still be confident if I took you down?"

"I would honestly feel less manly, but I would feel like more of a man knowing that you didn't hold back when you beat me."

She nodded. "Fair enough."

Jonathan smirked. "You guys are so cute, you know that?"

"Yes," they said together. They all laughed.

The three of them went up to get more coffee, barely pausing in their banter as they did.

Before she even knew it, Clary glanced at her phone and realized it had been nearly two hours. Her coffee was long gone, drawing half-finished, the sun beginning to set. It felt like it had been a long time since she'd lost track of the hours and been simply in the moment with two people she cared about. Jonathan hadn't looked at his phone in a while, and Clary was sure he'd lost track of time as well. Despite how much she was enjoying herself, Clary knew she should point it out.

"Jonathan?" She said. "Have you looked at the time?"

He blinked at her, then down at his phone. His look of surprise was priceless. "By the Angel! We really need to get going." He shook his head, standing up. "Sorry, Simon, but-"

Simon put up a hand. "Say no more. You guys have places to be." He smiled. "I'll walk you guys out."

Clary went about putting her sketchbook and pencils back into her bag, taking care as always. Then they took their cups back to the counter and headed out. Jonathan's car was closer, so they were there before she knew it.

"I parked around the corner," Simon said.

Stealing a glance at Jonathan, Clary smiled. "I'll walk you."

"I'll wait," Jonathan nodded, pulling out his keys. "Don't take too long-we don't want to keep the doctor waiting, Clary."

"I know." She took Simon's hand and they started toward the corner. There weren't a lot of people out, being that it was a slow hour: one of the few times where people were between activities, just about to get dinner after work. It was a roughly ten-minute period before traffic got bad again, which then lasted a couple of hours and picked up somewhere between ten and two.

The second they were out of Jonathan's view, Simon turned, and kissed Clary, pressing her back against the wall of a building. She smiled against his lips, kissing him back, standing up on her toes and wrapping her arms around his neck. He tasted like coffee and smelled like shampoo and lavender fabric softener. His hands were in her hair, gripping slightly to keep her face tilted into his.

"Sorry," he said, pulling back slightly. She could still feel his lips, brushing hers as he spoke. "I know you have to go, but-"

She kissed him. "Don't apologize. You're my boyfriend. It's okay to kiss me for no reason."

He smiled. "Good."

A few minutes later, Clary got into her brothers car. "Sorry. Simon forgot where he parked."

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "Right. I'm sure that's what happened." He smirked.

"It is."

"Okay, if you say so."

"What?"

He grinned, pulling into the light traffic. "You don't have to make stuff up, Clary. I know. And it's okay to kiss your boyfriend when you leave. You don't have to hide it. I understand."

"Jonathan, it's not like I'm gonna kiss him right in front of you. I mean, a little is whatever. But not like that. So, yeah, I'm gonna hide it."

"Oh, no, I get that! But you don't have to lie when it takes you a few extra minutes to get back. I know what you're doing. That's why I reminded you not to take forever-I know it won't take long to walk someone to their car. Did you even make it that far?"

She swatted his arm. "Of course!"

"Liar."

"Shut up, Jonathan!" She laughed. "Just shut up!"

He laughed.

Knowing where they were going, Clary wished she could keep the banter up for just that much longer. Seeing their mom in the hospital was a very sobering experience, and she truly hated it. She liked joking and laughing with her brother, and when they were with mom, it felt like she wasn't allowed to-not because she felt like she needed to be quiet in a place like that, but because it simply felt horribly uncomfortable, like an impending doom. Aside from that, she also just didn't want to be around her mom. She wasn't sure how to feel about her anymore, and it made her mad. It felt wrong to be with her mom, and it felt even worse to believe she was a bad person. The worst part was that they weren't even 100% sure about it all. It was still all speculation.

In the event that it was all true, it was agreed upon that they wouldn't awaken Jocelyn until after Clary got her memory back. The memories would tell the truth, and they couldn't proceed with much of anything until she had them. It was strange, because Clary felt like it was all on her. Without them, she could believe that everything about her mom was false, that she had had good reason for what she'd done, that she was still just her mom. The weight on her shoulders was unbearable at times. Once she remembered the truth, she would either regain her life with her family, or her mom would go to trial with the Clave and probably go to shadowhunter prison-whatever that was. She'd asked Jonathan about it, but he'd been so vague that Clary hadn't asked again. It was apparently the worst thing any shadowhunter could possibly imagine. The punishment for treason was awful, apparently. Clary couldn't even imagine what it was.

As they pulled up to the hospital, Clary felt the now-familiar sense of dread fall into her. She hated it, and wasn't sure, as they walked, if it was hatred for the situation, or hatred for her mom. She couldn't decided which was worse.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

 _Clary_ _stood in a garden she recognized from pictures Jonathan had shown her: the garden at the Morganstern manor. This was her home, the one she couldn't remember growing up in. She could see the fountain with the mermaid, the rose bushes, and lilies. There should have been the smell of them in the air, but everything was still. The sun was hidden behind clouds, and it looked like it was about to rain._

 _She turned and saw a huge tree, covered in scars from repeatedly being cut into. The painted red target was faded to almost nothing. Leaning against the tree was a sword from her drawings, adorned with stars. Without hesitation, she walked over and picked it up. She knew from Jonathan that it was hers, the smaller of a matching pair of Morganstern swords. She swiped it through the air, testing its weight in her hand. The handle was warm-not like someone else had used it, but like it was meant to be in her hand, a part of her. Swinging it again, like it was an extension of her arm, she turned and stopped mid-motion._

 _"Hey, Clary," Simon said, walking up to her. "Nice sword."_

 _She smiled. "It's a family sword. Do you like it?"_

 _He stepped closer. "I do. I wish I had one."_

 _Clary blinked at him. "A sword?"_

 _"A family sword," he said, looking distantly sad. "Mundane families don't have stuff like that."_

 _She nodded. "Yeah. You could always have one made though."_

 _He perked at this. "I could?"_

 _"Of course! At the weapons shop in Alicante. It's expensive, but they would do it."_

 _"That's true. But what sort of symbol would I have? My name is made up."_

 _She shrugged, thinking of his name. "It's your name. You can have whatever symbol you want." She giggled. "You probably should have thought about it before you chose the name 'Simon Daylighter'."_

 _Just then, she noticed the runes adorning Simons skin. Looking down at her sword, she saw the runes on her as well. It looked so right to see runes on them that she didn't think twice about it. They were shadowhunters, after all. Shadowhunters all had runes._

 _But wait. Simon was a shadowhunter?_

 _"Simon! You're-" she gasped, shocked, coming to reality._

 _"Of course I am. Don't you remember?" He asked. "It was before we met, Clary. Before…" He swept his hands between them. "All of this."_

 _She shook her head. "No, Simon. I'm a shadowhunter. You're a human!"_

 _He stepped toward her, taking her free hand. "No, Clary. We're both shadowhunters. You have to remember! I know you can." Suddenly, his marks disappeared. "You have to bring them back. You have to remember...what I am."_

 _"But how did this happen?" She asked, feeling her body begin to shake._

 _"Four years ago. Clary...it's not a coincidence that we met. You just...you just have to remember!"_

Clary's eyes shot open and she sat straight up in her bed. Her hand found her phone in the dark on her nightstand and she immediately punched in Simons number, thankful that she'd remembered to turn down the brightness before going to bed.

"Clary?" Simon answered after the first ring.

"What's wrong?"

She blinked. "What ever happened to 'hello'?"

"Sorry, I just assumed. I mean, it's three in the morning. I generally assume something's wrong when someone calls so late."

"Oh, God, I'm sorry! I didn't realize it was so late. Did I wake you?"

"No, it's fine. I'm up late playing video games. I can't sleep for some reason."

She sighed, relieved. "Good. No, I just had a weird dream and needed to hear your voice."

"Ah. Do you wanna talk about it?"

She shook her head, even though she was alone. "No, that's okay. I just...needed to hear your voice. I already feel better."

"That's good. Glad I could help!"

"Thanks, Simon."

"Sure. Oh, how did it go with the doctor?"

"They still don't know what's wrong, but based on the tests they've run, they learned that she's basically asleep. They looked at her brain waves or something, and they told us that she isn't processing sound or anything, so she can't hear me when I talk to her. Aside from that, there's nothing new."

"I'm sorry. That really sucks. I hope she wakes up soon."

"Me too," she lied. She wasn't ready to face it all yet. "Anyway, I should get back to bed. Thanks for talking to me."

"No problem. Are you still coming over tomorrow? Or, well, today, I guess."

She smiled. "Unless you wanna go somewhere."

"Not really. Im good with just Chinese and movies."

"Same. I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Sounds good. Night!"

Though she didn't really dream, the image of Simon as a shadowhunter lingered in her mind.

Clary sat on the floor of the Institute training room, staring down at the picture she'd been working on all day. It was a picture of Simon and her, standing in the same room she was in now. He was holding a sword adorned with a sun shining up and down the hilt, his back to her. His shirt was off, hanging from his other hand, revealing shadowhunter marks. He was more toned than he was in real life, and Clary was drawing a rune on his shoulder that looked like the start of an iratze.

She bit her lip and continued drawing the finer details of the room. Across from her, Jonathan was sitting against the opposite wall, tossing a dagger and catching it, listening to music in his headphones. She decided to draw him that way, in the corner of the room.

"Are you going to Simon's?" He asked suddenly, making her jump.

"What? Oh, yeah. I am. Why?"

"Just making sure. Remind me to stop and get gas before I drop you off."

"Remember to get gas before you drop me off," she smirked, not looking up from her sketchbook.

"You know what I mean."

"If you wanna go home, I can take a cab to Simons."

"No, it's fine. I don't mind driving you, we'll just have to get gas."

"I really don't mind taking a cab."

"Clary, it's no big deal."

"Neither is taking a cab."

"I'm not gonna make you take a cab unless you don't remind me to get gas."

"Don't forget to get gas, Jonathan."

"Shut up and draw."

"Can you stop moving so much?"

He sighed loudly. "Are you drawing me again?"

"No, you just happen to be apart of the picture." She looked at him. "Can you throw that again? Like you were doing?" He did, and she smiled. "Thanks." She started drawing again, then grinned, pleased. "Okay, you can fidget again."

He rolled his eyes and stood up. Walking over to her, he asked, "can I see it?"

Clary bit her lip, then nodded, handing the book to him. He studied it for a long minute before handing it back. "It looks good."

"Thanks."

"You keep drawing him like that," Jonathan said, sitting down in front of her, their knees almost touching. "You haven't once drawn him as a mundane."

"I used to," she said. "I don't know why, but everytime I start to draw him, the runes just happen."

"He can't know, Clary," Jonathan reminded her. "Unless he's in danger, it's against the Accords to tell him. He's a mundane."

She looked away. "I know. I want to tell him, but I won't. He'd think I'm crazy anyway."

"Probably."

Clary sighed and looked around the training room, wondering what Simon would make of it.

They were there to train, of course, as was their routine. They'd been training with Jace, but he's been called to the library and had been gone for almost a half hour. Clary was pretty sure that when he returned, they'd go to Taki's instead of finishing their session, but hadn't changed back into her normal clothes on the off chance that they continued for another twenty minutes. Isabelle and Alec were somewhere in the Institute.

Clary had learned a few days before that Isabelle and Alec had a little brother named Max. He was in Idris with their father, Robert Lightwood, and would be returning in the next few days. Isabelle informed her that Max would be joining her training sessions at that time-at least until Clary recovered her memories and could be trained separately based on her skill.

The door opened suddenly and Jace stepped in. He looked at Clary and Jonathan sitting on the floor and smirked. "Having a floor party, I see."

"We were waiting on you," Jonathan said. "You took forever. Everything okay?"

"Yeah. It was just Maryse asking for an update. It's fine. Do you guys want to keep training? Alec and Isabelle want to head to Taki's, but we can meet them later if you wanna keep working."

"I'm starving," Clary said.

"Same," said Jonathan.

Jace shrugged. "Okay. I'm going to change, and we'll wait for you guys outside."

"Sounds good."

Jace left. Jonathan stood before helping Clary up, and they headed for the locker room.

Clary changed into shorts and a black Panic! At The Disco shirt, then joined Jonathan-dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt. They left the training room and walked through the halls to the elevator to meet the others.


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: I love you guys so much:) it makes me happy to know how much you all like this story. You must all like it a lot because I haven't gotten a single suggestion from anyone.

Chapter Sixteen

"So I know I'm a shadowhunter," Clary said, tending and turning to face her brother again. "I know that. But what if there's a mistake that we don't know about?"

Jonathan smirked at her, palming his stele as he crossed his arms. "Like what, Clary?"

They were standing in the back yard, getting ready to train when Jonathan suggested they try with runes. It would be Clarys second-the first being a sleeping rune. Runes, she knew, worked on shadowhunters and killed mundanes. Despite everything, it made Clary nervous for that reason.

"Like, what if I'm not really Clary?" She suggested, anxiously grasping at straws. "What if Clary is somewhere else and Jocelyn replaced her with me, and I'm actually a mundane?"

Jonathan rolled his eyes. "Clary, that's just ridiculous. I've marked you before-you're the real Clary. Now, if you don't want a tune all you have to do it tell me. It's okay to be a little scared."

She stood straighter and crossed her arms. "I'm not scared, I just don't want to die!"

"So we do the rune and if you're still alive, which you will be, then you're really my sister, and a real shadowhunter. Which will be good because I refuse to spend another four years looking for my sister."

She gave him a look. "What if I'm a shadowhunter, but I'm not your sister? I could be a fake Clary. A stunt double. Or a clone! Or maybe Jocelyn messed with your memories and you don't actually have a sis-ah!"

Clary screamed as Jonathan suddenly tackled her to the ground. Her front pressed against the grass, arms pinned by Jonathan's knees as he straddled her back. His stele flashed in the sunlight before it came down and touched the skin of her shoulder blade, exposed by her sports bra.

"No, no, no!" She cried, seeing the blue glow in the corner of her eye, and struggling under her brothers weight. "Stop!"

The stele didn't move, it's tip lightly touching her skin.

"I hope," Jonathan said casually. "That you understand this will feel ridiculous once you're marked and we're training. You're a shadowhunter, Clary, and shadowhunters have runes. You need to be able to get them at a moments notice."

"I know that!" She said, still struggling. "I just-"

"Clary, the only reason for you not to have runes is if you don't want to be a shadowhunter," he said, his voice suddenly sharp. She froze. "If you don't want to be a shadowhunter you don't have to get marks. You don't have to train or learn or fight with us. You can choose right now to walk away from it. I won't stop you. You can go draw and hang out with Simon and go to school. But if you're going to be a shadowhunter, you going to train and fight and get runes. It's your choice."

She pressed her face into the grass, squeezing her eyes shut. Why was she so afraid to get runes? She had no problem learning to fight, using weapons, or learning about runes and shadowhunter history-so why this? The rune she would get wasn't permanent, it was just for speed, and would only last a hour or two. It would be faded to almost nothing by the time she got to the Institute later in the day, and a rune there would be gone by the time she went to Simons. The scar would be so faint that nobody would ever notice it. Placing the rune would be painless. Her body was made for runes, made to accept their power and use it. She had made the decision before to be a shadowhunter when she agreed to learn to fight. She'd asked to be one when she accepted the Codex from Jonathan. Being a shadowhunter made her feel whole.

So why was she afraid of being marked?

Clary knew she didn't want to be a mundane. Sure, she entertained the idea of going back to being a normal person-going to school, drawing, having a normal relationship with normal Simon-but it no longer felt like her life. It couldn't be her life anymore, not with everything going on with her mom. She would never be normal again, and that was okay. She didn't care about that-she had a dad and a brother now! She could be a shadowhunter and still keep Simon as her totally normal boyfriend, and go to school, and do art around training and things.

So why was she afraid?

Images flashed across her eyes. Images of her skin curling back from the stele as it burned, her eyes going dark as she turned Forsaken, her body disintegrating as she died. Raw terror stabbed through her veins.

Then she stopped.

It wouldn't happen. She was a shadowhunter. She wouldn't die from the mark, it wouldn't even hurt. She knew it would be okay, that it would make her faster and then it would be gone. There was some part of her, buried deep, that was stopping her.

The block on her mind.

And just like that, her fear dissipated. Her skin was still cold with it, but her mind was no longer afraid.

"Do it," she said through her teeth. She was ready.

The stele began to move, gliding across her skin, leaving a slight burning behind it. She felt the imprint of 'speed' as it appeared, then a jolt inside her as everything began moving faster-her heart, her blood, her breath…speed.

She grinned. Faster than she'd ever been, Clary pushed herself up and out from under Jonathan, who gasped as he fell backward. When she turned around, spinning on her heel, she saw that he was grinning as well. She was suddenly across the yard, grabbing two iron staffs and tossing one to her brother, who jumped to catch it in mid-air.

And then they were fighting, moving almost too fast to see. It was all wind and the clank of metal, gasps and whispers of movement.

At one point, Jonathan disarmed his sister with a swipe of his staff. The motion threw her back, and at the last second before falling, she struck her foot out. The single kick to the ground sent her up, flipping and landing back on her two feet. Jonathan was in front of her, pushing her back. She grasped his staff, hands on the inside of his, and twisted it. Surprised, he let go and immediately ducked as she slashed at him. As he rose, he kicked and flipped backwards, making to kick down at her and he flipped forward again. The staff connected with his side, throwing him to the ground.

Clarys staff was on the ground five feet from him, and he turned his fall into a roll to grab for it.

But Clary was faster. She jumped forward, over Jonathan, rolling as he did. Her hand found the staff, and she jumped into a stand, one staff in each hand. Not hesitating, she swung at her brother, who dodged by rolling again.

In the moment that his eyes couldn't see her, ran for the tree in the close corner of the yard and used it as a kick-off, sending her flying at Jonathan. The staffs angled together before her, they caged Jonathan's shoulders as he started to stand, causing him to fall backwards into the grass.

And then Clary was above him, one leg out at an angle, with the other knee pressed into his chest. If it were a real fight, she would have killed him.

Jonathan started laughing. After a moment of hesitation, Clary stood, dropping the staffs, to help him up.

"Good job!" He grinned. "That was-"

"Perfect form," a voice said from behind Clary.

She spun around and saw their father standing on the porch, leaning casually against the railing. She smiled. "It was?"

He nodded, jumping over the rail to land a few feet from her. "Perfect form, and with no hesitation. If Jonathan were a threat, you would have ruined him." He looked to his son. "Are you marked?"

Clary started to say he wasn't, but then Jonathan grinned and lifted his sleeve to reveal a fading speed rune. "I applied it before we came out."

"So Clary won in an even fight."

"Not technically," Jonathan said. "My training is more advanced than hers. Even with every rune in the Grey Book she shouldn't have won. She's just better." His grin was one of pride for his sister, and triumph for her success. To him, it was an amazing thing for Clary to have beaten him in a wholey uneven fight.

Their father beamed at them. "The student surpasses the teacher-I do enjoy when the saying reins true." He tilted his head slightly. "Though, I would like to know why. Clary, it was amazing, no doubt about that. But with such little training, you shouldn't have been able to even disarm your brother. I wonder…" In a matter of seconds his expression changed about ten times: confused, worried, scared, disbelief, anger, confusion… He shook his head. "Never mind. All will be clear soon." He smiled. "Keep working for now. I'll be in the study of you need me." He bent to press a kiss to Clarys forehead, then turned and headed back inside.

When he was gone, Clary smirked at Jonathan. "Is it just coincidence that people always walk up when I'm being awesome?"

He laughed. "At least he didn't come when I was trying to mark you. That would have been awkward."

"Would he have been angry?"

He shook his head. "I've never seen him angry. Father is always pretty level headed. It was mother who would get angry when we misbehaved or fought or acted recklessly."

"Mom has a short temper-easily upset, but it also passed quickly."

"Yell first, ask questions later," he agreed. "Father always eased the situation."

"I wish I could remember." Sighing, she sat down. "Even if I could remember them together. Were they happy?"

He sat in front of her. "They were. They were in love and they loved us. We used to watch them take walks through the garden, holding hands. You used to say that you wanted to be in love like them, and that you wouldn't get married if the love was any different."

Clary smiled. "And you?"

"I was more interested in children, to be honest. I know it's weird, but I didn't think about loving someone. I wanted children to love, kids I could teach to fight and keep safe. I've always thought of myself as more of a father than a husband."

"You kinda need to have someone to help make the kids," Clary joked.

"I dunno. I could always adopt. Shadowhunters die all the time-young shadowhunters who leave children behind."

"Really?" Clary knew it was ignorant, but she imagined shadowhunters dying old, always.

"Of course. Demons can be devious, and kill all but a child-entire families. It's more common than any of us like to admit. The kids get shipped back to Idris, or they grow up in an Institute-like Jace."

Clary blinked. "Jace?"

"Uh-huh. They don't talk about it, but Jaces parents died when he was a kid. He was only ten or so. I don't know the details, but after they died, the Lightwoods stood up and took him in. Their families were always close. His grandmother would have taken him, but she had just been made Inqusitor, and her son and daughter-in-law had just died. Jace and Alec became parabatai shortly after, so it all worked out."

"How did his parents die?"

"I don't know. We were just kids when it happened. I brought it up the other day, but he doesn't want to talk about it. Nobody does."

"I understand. When it was just me and mom, she told me that my dad had died when I was little. I don't remember the details she told me-she didn't like talking about it. I didn't either. Honestly though...I don't think she gave an actual answer." She shook her head. "It doesn't matter though, since it was a lie. All of it." She sighed, then smiled. "Anyway. Enough about sad stuff. I think you'll be an awesome dad one day."

"Me too. Do you want to be a parent?"

"I don't know. I think I just want to be an artist. Maybe get married someday...I don't know. It's kind of weird to think about. I mean...my boyfriend is a mundane and I've only been a shadowhunter for a couple of weeks."

"You'll figure it out. You have time."

She smiled again and stood up. "We should get back to training."

He grinned at her. "Yeah. This time though, I'll take you down."

An hour later, he still hadn't.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: get ready guys :)

Chapter Seventeen

Isabelle and Alec wanted coffee more than food after training, so they five of them found themselves at Java Jones instead of Taki's. They say on the couches and started talking. Clary listened in content silence as the conversation flowed from training to coffee to Idris. Max, Robert Lightwood, the Clave, and Ragnor Fell. Alec skirted around the topic of Magnus Bane, hiding what looked like embarrassment behind his poker face, and Isabelle blushed at the mention of faeries.

"Careful," Jace said, casual as ever. "Mundanes are present."

Isabelle rolled her eyes. "Isn't Alec supposed to be the one warning us?"

"No one is close enough to care," Alec said. "But yeah."

Clary got the impression that the three of them weren't used to being out without glamours. She'd learned that most shadowhunters were almost never around mundanes in casual settings without the rune that kept them hidden. Though she'd never used one herself, she couldn't imagine walking around unseen. To her, it seemed like hiding wasn't the best way to go about saving people from demons-it felt like it made what they did wrong, like they needed to hide their good deeds rather than their runes. She'd said as much to Jonathan before.

"I wonder if we'll all be able to go to Idris," Isabelle said. "Fell said he would see Clary and Jonathan, but honestly you guys shouldn't go alone."

"Our father will probably come," Jonathan said. "If not, Idris is safe for us. I know my way around."

"I'd like to go," Jace said. "Perhaps not exactly with you, but I wouldn't mind seeing the old house." His eyes darkened slightly for a second before returning to normal. "There won't be anyone there but I wouldn't mind seeing it."

Jonathan shrugged. "I have no objections."

"It wouldn't be a bad idea for us to visit," Alec said. "It is home, after all."

Before anything else could be said on the matter, Jonathan stiffened. "Clary," he said, nodding toward the door.

She looked over, as did everyone else, as Simon and his fellow band-mates walked in, laughing.

"Who are they?" Isabelle asked.

Clary stood up. "The one with glasses is my boyfriend." She smiled at Jonathan. "I'll be right back."

Simon hadn't seen her, and was facing away when she wrapped her arms around him from behind. His friends eyes all widened.

"Surprise," Clary said.

Spinning around, Simon gasped, shocked, before laughing. "Clary! You scared me!"

"I'm very terrifying," she grinned. She jumped up on her toes to give him a quick kiss. "I saw you walk in."

"I didn't know you were here. Who are you with?" His eyes caught Jonathan, and he waved. "Hey!"

"Those family friends I mentioned?" She said. "That's them, with my brother."

"Oh!" He smiled. "Why are they looking at me like that?"

Clary looked over and saw the slightly hostile looks of the three shadowhunters, contrasting heavily with Jonathan's friendly smile as he spoke to them. Nervous, she said, "they don't really like new people. They're, um, kind of protective of me." The last bit was a lie, but Simon didn't need to know that.

He nodded. "That makes sense. I'm sure your family thought they'd never see you again, so I can understand why they'd be protective-Jonathan especially." He looked back at his own friends, who'd gotten in line for coffee, then back to Clary, smiling. "Do you wanna get out of here?"

She grinned. "Sure. Just let me grab my stuff."

Back at the couches, Jonathan grinned before she could say anything. "Don't worry about it. Go have fun with your boyfriend."

"Are you sure?" She asked, taking her bag from his outstretched hand.

"Of course. Oh, and I put something in your bag to protect you."

Giving him a questioning look, she opened the main pocket of her bag and saw her stele and a seraph blade. "Seriously?" She smirked.

He shrugged. "You never know."

Rolling her eyes, she gave him a quick hug. To the others she smiled. "See you guys tomorrow!"

The park was deserted without a runner or child in sight. The swings swayed gently in the breeze, and the water of the pond rippled as leaves touched the surface. Clary and Simon lay on the grass side by side watching the clouds.

"It's a pirate ship," Simon insisted. "See, it has a mast and a flag!"

"Okay, no, it's a fish-those are fins! It's a beta, not a pirate ship."

"I see where you're coming from, but you're wrong. It's a pirate ship."

"No. Simon, if that's a pirate ship, than that one is a waffle iron."

"It is a waffle iron, Clary."

"How can the clouds make a waffle iron?" She laughed.

"Cloud pirates need cloud waffles too!"

She smacked his shoulder. "So do cloud beta fish!"

"Why would a cloud fish need a cloud waffle?"

"Fish need waffles-they're people too!"

Simon laughed and sat up. "I've never seen a fish eating a waffle."

"I've never seen a pirate eat a waffle."

"Fish don't even have hands to use a waffle iron, Clary."

She sat up. "Who says you need hands to make waffles?"

"Literally everyone."

"A fish would enjoy a waffle a lot more than a pirate."

"How would it put the syrup on?"

"Simon, the whole point of syrup is to make something plain taste sweet, and to make something crunchy soft. An ocean fish wouldn't need to put syrup on its waffle because it wouldn't taste good with the salt. Plus, the water would make it soft enough to eat. A fish doesn't need syrup on its waffle."

"But the waffle would just get soggy."

"Not if it eats it fast."

"It'll still get soggy. Who wants a soggy waffle?"

"A cloud fish!"

"Now you're just making stuff up. A pirate is way more likely to…" He kept talking, but Clary was no longer listening to him.

She looked away, toward the grove of trees a short ways away from them where she'd heard a strange rustling noise. As she watched, a figure rushed from one tree to another, too fast for a human.

"Did you see that?" She asked, a cold shiver running down her spine.

"See what?"

The wind shifted and Clary smelt it. It was like rotten sugar and the smell of the sewage. It wasn't a smell she was familiar with, but she knew it instantly: a demon.

Instantly, Clary was on her feet. The stele was in her hand, drawing a rune on her forearm. The demon, seeing her, emerged from the trees, massive and ugly. The stele fell into her bag and was replaced by the seraph.

"Nakir," she said, watching as the blade lit up in her hand.

Simon was on his feet, eyes darting from the blade to the demon. He could see it? "Clary what the hell is that?"

She didn't have time to answer, as the demon suddenly rushed toward her. "Run!" She told Simon. Then she was moving, jerking herself to the left at the last second, blade catching the demons side as she slid across the grass and into the bark of the play ground. The demon screamed and whipped around to face her again, but she jumped and spun, kicking it's body with the heel of her converse. It's body skidded backwards, leaving deep grooves in the grass.

The demon reached out and hit Clary square in the stomach, knocking the wind from her lungs and throwing her backwards. Her back hit the side pole of the swing set, and she cried out in pain. Then a massive hand grabbed her arm, the one not holding the blade, and swung her down into the bark chips. It lifted her again and she stabbed down into its hand. It screamed, releasing her.

Clary jumped to her feet again and dove forward, blade driving itself deep into the belly of the demon, which exploded into bloody ichor.

In her hand, she blade sizzled as the ichor melted it. She dropped it, and fell to her knees.

She'd killed a demon!

"...ry! Clary! Oh my god, are you okay?"

Simon was suddenly beside her, kicking up bark chips as he slid, grabbing her shoulders. She looked up at his panicked face.

"Clary, what was that? How did you do that? Why do you have a knife? And what the hell was that thing?"

She blinked at him. "You could see it?" She panted.

"Of course I could see it! It was huge! What was it?"

"Simon you…you shouldn't have been able to see it. That thing was a demon-you shouldn't have been able to see it."

"A demon? Clary what are you talking about? We should call the police."

He started to stand, but Clary grabbed onto his shoulders. "No! We don't need to call the police, we need to call Jonathan."

"Jonathan? Clary, a monster demon thing just tried to kill you!"

"I'll explain everything," she said, standing and taking a firm hold of his hand. "I promise. But right now, we need to leave. There could be more. We need to get somewhere safe, and we have to tell Jonathan."

"No." He planted his feet on the grass. "Clary, tell me what's going on. A demon just tried to kill you and you killed it and now you want to tell your brother-what's going on? We aren't going anywhere until you explain what's going on."

Clary closed her eyes tightly, then sighed. "Simon, you're going to think I'm crazy."

"I just watched you kill a demon and it disappeared. You can't tell me anything crazier than that."

"If I tell you the short version, you have to come with me to my place and Jonathan and I will explain everything."

"Fine."

"Okay. So shadowhunters are a race of people with Angel blood, and they kill demons. I'm a shadowhunter and so is Jonathan, and I just found out a couple weeks ago and I wanted to tell you but normal people aren't supposed to see demons or know that shadowhunters exist so I wasn't allowed to tell you. But that was a demon and I killed it because I'm a shadowhunter, and you weren't supposed to be able to see it and I don't know why, which is why we have to go see Jonathan and my dad because I don't know why you saw it or what it means and I'm scared that you'll freak out and leave me because I'm some sort of freak that kills demons."

"What about your mom?"

"My mom is a shadowhunter too. I don't know everything and I've been trying to figure it out."

He stared at her for a long time before sighing and looking at the ground. "Clary...okay, this is crazy, but...nothing else makes sense."

"You believe me?"

"Nothing else makes sense. I mean, that doesn't really make sense either but...I don't know. But I believe you enough to go with you."

In the van, as they were pulling onto the road, Simon cleared his throat. "It's crazy," he said. "I think we both agree on that."

"It is crazy," she almost whispered. Her body tensed as she waited for him to say he wanted nothing to do with it-with her.

"You aren't crazy though," he said. His hand reached for hers, eyes not leaving the road. "I believe you, and I don't think you're crazy." Glancing over and seeing her expression, he smiled slightly. "You're gonna help me figure this out right? I mean, seeing demons is pretty scary and I'm definitely gonna need comfort from my girlfriend if this becomes a regular thing."

She looked at him, hand almost limp in his, not willing the believe it yet. "You mean you aren't going to leave? I kill demons, Simon-isn't that scary for you? I mean… You saw it! Don't you just want out?"

"What-so a demon can kill me next time? Hell no. I've got a kick-ass demon-slaying girlfriend! Clary, what guy doesn't want that?" He grinned. "Don't worry, babe. I'm not going anywhere."

His hand tightened around hers, and she let herself hold his and smile. Simon wasn't going anywhere.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

Jonathan was in the kitchen when Clary and Simon arrived. He was leaning against the counter eating a Cup Noodle and staring intently at the nutritional facts.

"It's crazy how many of these I can't pronounce," he said, not looking up. "I speak fluent Latin, Hebrew, Romanian, and Greek, and I still don't know what any of this is. I feel like most of them are probably fancy words for salt-which is about all I taste in this."

"The normalcy of this is greatly astounding," Simon said thoughtfully, leaning again the door jam. "Yet intensely disappointing."

Jonathan's head jerked up and he almost dropped his noodles. "Simon! You scared me-I didn't see you."

"Ah,the irony."

The look of confusion on Jonathan's face was priceless. "Huh?"

Clary sighed. "Jonathan, somethings happened."

Almost instantly, fast enough to make Simon jump, Jonathan was in front of her, taking her hand. "Are you okay?" He lifted her hand and she noticed for the first time that it was blistered and bleeding from the demons blood.

"I'm fine," she said, taking her hand back. "I just need an iratze.

His eyes flickered to Simon. "Clary?"

"We were at the park and a demon came out of nowhere and I killed it and Jonathan-Simon saw the whole thing."

He stepped back, looking between them. "What?"

"I saw Clary kill a demon at the park," Simon said.

Jonathan shook his head. "That's not possible-only shadowhunters and downworlders can see demons. Unless...Have you ever seen them before?"

"Never."

"This is crazy," Jonathan said. "But…" his eyes narrowed as he thought. "Hold on." Turning, he left the kitchen.

Clary heard him on the steps, then the creak of the floor on the second level as he walked above them.

When he returned, Clary and Simon were leaning against the counter. Jonathan had a hand behind his back, holding something Clary couldn't see. "This is a crazy idea, but I just can't think of anything else. Simon, put your hand out."

He gave him a look. "Am I going to die?"

"Only if you don't put your hand out."

He did. Taking Simons hand, palm up, by the wrist, Jonathan revealed a seraph from behind his back and held it up.

"What the hell?" Simon said, trying to pull his hand back.

Jonathan held tightly. "I'm not going to cut you," he said carefully. "Just listen. This is a seraph blade-it's made of adamas. Shadowhunters use these to kill demons with. If a mundane or downworlder attempts to use it, nothing happens. The runes on it respond to shadowhunter blood only."

"So what do I do?" Simon asked, voice shaking slightly.

"All you have to do is give it an angel name."

"And it'll do what?"

Clary stepped forward. "When I did it, it got bigger and started glowing."

Jonathan placed the hilt in Simons hand. "Now name it. Call it Cassiel."

Simon took a breath and wrapped his hand around it. "C-Cassiel?"

The blade shot out, but it didn't glow solid. The light of it flickered, like a candle about to go out. It was like the seraph couldn't decide if Simon was a shadowhunter or not.

"That's odd…" Jonathan said. "Um, I'm not sure…"

"Jonathan?" Clary said. "What…?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe dad-"

"Father would tell us to consult with the Silent Brothers. And the Clave."

"Who?" Simon asked.

"The Silent Brothers," Jonathan said. "They're shadowhunters-they're like monks. They devote themselves to the knowledges. They take up a vow of silence and servitude with special runes that allow them to do things we normally can't. Because of that they can detect things that we aren't able to."

"Oh. So...lets find one?"

"They live in the Silent City. I just...don't know if it's the best idea."

"Where's dad?" Clary asked.

"At the Institute. I'll call him." He took the seraph from Simon and left the room.

"So what does this mean?" Simon asked Clary.

She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm new at all of this but...only a shadowhunter can work a seraph blade. For a normal person it wouldn't have done anything. So...I think it means you might be part shadowhunter?" She looked away, thinking out loud. "But that doesn't make sense. Shadowhunter genes are dominant, no matter what. It's not like with race where you can be half and half, because if a mundane and a shadowhunter have kids they'll be shadowhunters ever single time. Which means that you don't have shadowhunter genetics because, well, then you would just be a shadowhunter and there'd be no question about it."

"What about you?" Simon asked. "How are you a shadowhunter?"

"Both of my parents are shadowhunters."

"But you said you were new to it. I don't understand."

"It's complicated."

"I've got time. Maybe it'll help."

"Shadowhunters are from a place called Idris," she began, jumping up to sit on the counter. "It's a small country hidden from mundanes in Europe. I was born there with Jonathan and our parents, and we were raised as shadowhunters. When I was twelve my mom took me and left them, and had my memories of my life taken away and replaced-that's why I never knew I had a brother and I thought my dad was dead. She had a warlock take my memories. Then a couple weeks ago, only a couple days after I moved here, Jonathan and dad found me. Mom is in a coma because she took some sort of potion to protect herself."

"Well what about me?" He asked. "Maybe my memories are gone too."

"The block on my mind prevented me from seeing the shadow world in anyway until-well, I guess it wore off. So maybe someone did something to you too?"

"We're about to find out," Jonathan said as he came back in. "I just spoke to father. He and Maryse are going to meet us in the Silent City." He clapped a hand on Simons shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll get this sorted out."

"Oh, I'm not worried. Being a shadowhunter sounds kind of cool."

Clary sat on the bed beside Simon. They were in his bedroom, removing their shoes, dusty from the Silent City. Simon hadn't spoken to her since they'd gotten in the van, which she understood and was trying not to take to heart.

They'd gotten answers and more questions. It seemed that the more they learned the less they understood. They knew three things for sure.

Firstly, they'd learned that there was a block on Simons mind that could be removed by a warlock, but the Silent Brothers didn't know how it was put there. They did know that it was put there to block out a small amount of time and the shadow world. They couldn't tell why.

Second, Simon wasn't a shadowhunter but he had shadowhunter blood. The brothers weren't sure how or when or why, but Simon had somehow gotten shadowhunter blood in his system. It wasn't enough to receive runes safely, but it was enough to attempt to use a seraph. An Institute recognizes shadowhunter blood and will open to it, and would open for Simon should he need to enter alone. He could draw runes with a stele, but not receive them. While a lot was still unknown, the Brothers were certain that the amount in Simons blood made it so that he could Ascend without training or preparation.

Third, there was evidence that the block and the blood were the work of Jocelyn Morganstern.

When Simon learned of all the things that Jocelyn was accused of (with evidence) he sort of went blank. All he wanted to do was leave. He'd pulled Jonathan aside and then taken Clary to the van.

Was he angry with her? Did he think she'd dragged him into all this? Or that she was in league with her mom? Did he hate her?

"I'm sorry," she said, unable to be alone with her thoughts anymore. She crossed her legs and leaned against the wall.

He blinked at her. "Huh? What for?"

"Dragging you into all this."

"You didn't drag me into anything, Clary. You really didn't. You...you're just trying to help."

"It's all my fault."

"No it's not. I would have seen that demon anyway."

"But my mom-"

"Isn't you. You didn't do anything to cause this."

Clary was silent for a long minute. "What are you gonna do?"

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "I mean you don't have to be a shadowhunter. You have a choice. You have the right to decide to forget about all of this."

"Clary…"

"Nothing has to change. You can be a normal person and forget about this. Simon, being a shadowhunter is dangerous. It's hours of training and runes and killing demons. You wouldn't be able to tell your mom or your sister or your other friends. If that demon hadn't been there, I wouldn't have been allowed to tell you."

"You didn't have a choice though."

"I did. Because I don't remember growing up like this. I chose to because I felt like it's who I'm meant to be. Everything suddenly made sense to me. Being a shadowhunter makes sense to me. It's who I am and I embraced it. But I didn't have to."

"Will I be allowed to see me mom still?"

"Of course. She just can't know."

"What about us?" He asked.

She blinked. "What about us?"

"If I ignore it…will we still be together?"

"Nothing has to change. It just means I can tell you about it because now you know."

"We'd make a badass demon killing team," he grinned.

She grinned back. "We really would."

That's what they talked about. For hours they lay in Simons bed talking about killing demons and exploring the shadow world together. Clary told him everything she knew about it. She realized that they talked about it like it was a story-fantasizing about the good things and the action. They spoke of the danger like it would make them famous instead of killing them. It was nice to think about it as fun.

Clary woke up in her own bed and grinned. It had been two days since they'd taken Simon to the Silent City-which Simon had taken to called Creep Town. He'd said it was the creepiest place he'd ever been to, which Clary agreed-and they'd been to the wax museum.

Since then, Simon had received an offer from the Clave via Maryse to attend the Shadowhunter Academy. There, in Idris, he would receive all the training and knowledge he needed to be a shadowhunter and fully ascend. He would be Portaling there tomorrow along with Clary, Jonathan, Jace, Isabelle, and Alec. Ragnor Fell was ready to receive them, and the Academy was ready for Simon.

Today, Simon was coming over and meeting her dad as her boyfriend.

They had, of course, met in the Silent City, but her dad wasn't satisfied. He said it needed to be more formal, less official, and had told Clary to invite him for dinner. So she had.

As always, the day began with training. She and Jonathan fought together in the backyard while Valentine did his work in the study. Since Simon was coming, they would be training together all day instead of going to the Institute. On their breaks she texted Simon about training and what to wear-you know, normal girlfriend stuff.

At three, they went inside to shower and get ready. Clary tidied the house a bit, then sat in the kitchen and opened the Codex. She'd read it half a dozen times and was working on annotating it as a gift for Simon-complete with doodles when she got distracted. She'd taken notes and highlighted on her first and second reading, but wanted to make sure every important thing was noted for Simons benefit.

At five thirty, Clary sat on the couch with her sketchbook, idly doodling. She was wearing a jean skirt and a Spider Gwen t-shirt, hair down with her bangs perfectly above her eyes. Jonathan sat in the arm chair wearing jeans as always. Valentine was still in his study.

"Are you nervous?" Jonathan asked suddenly.

She looked up. "What? No. Why would I be?"

"You're introducing your boyfriend to your father. Isn't that something that makes people nervous?"

"I guess. But I'm not. Honestly, I've always wanted to do this. I mean, ideally I would be introducing my boyfriend to both of my parents, but that isn't really in the cards. It's enough to be able to introduce him to my dad. Before...I didn't think I'd ever have this. Having a brother and a dad to bring a guy home to...it's everything I could have ask for." She smiled.

Then the doorbell rang. Clary stood up. "Dad!" She called. "Simons here!"

She ran to open the door and hugged Simon when he walked in. "Hey!"

"Hey," he grinned, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Good to see you," Jonathan said, hugging him as well.

"Simon!" Valentine said, suddenly behind Clary. "Welcome." They shook hands. "Good to officially meet you."

"You too, sir," Simon said. "You have a lovely home."

"Thank you. It's a rental. Anyway," he began leading them all into the living room. "Clary tells me you're a vegetarian?"

"Yes, sir."

And on it went. They talked about Simons life and his family, then about the Morganstern family, shadowhunter stuff and movies. Valentine had ordered pizza for everyone, and they ate and talked in the living room.

Valentine stepped into his study when a phone call came, leaving the three teens alone.

When it got late, Clary walked Simon to his van and kissed him goodnight.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said.

"What did you tell your mom?" Clary asked.

"Maryse called actually. Mom thinks it's a fancy boarding school giving me a full scholarship." He shrugged. "It's not technically a lie."

"I'll bet she's proud."

He nodded. "She is. She thinks it's so cool. Anyway, she had to go out of town for work so I don't have anyone to help me pack. I really should get going."

They kissed once more, then she watched him drive away.

Tomorrow would kick-start everything. Soon she would have her mom, even for a moment. Simon would go to the shadowhunter academy. Clary would have her memories back.

It was only a little scary. Everything could change.


	19. Chapter 19

Isabelle and Alec pulled Jace aside the moment they arrived in Alicante.

The portal dropped the six of them just inside Alicante where they were greeted by a small group of shadowhunters in gear. They said hello, and let them on our way. Jonathan went to two of them and began asking them for directions, leaving Simon and Clary alone.

He was carrying a duffle bag on his shoulder filled with his witty t-shirts and her own copy of the Codex—she was now using Jonathans, but wanted Simon to have hers because it was filled with notes and little drawings. Would the notes really help him in this new life? Probably not, but she hoped it would bring him some comfort as he went through schooling alone.

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Clary asked, touching his shoulder. "Are you sure that the academy is really what you want?"

He nodded and half-smiled. "I'm sure. This'll be a good thing," he grinned fully. "When I come back I'll probably be super buff and know a ton about shadowhunter magic or whatever. You won't even recognize me through all the awesomeness."

She rolled her eyes. "I already see through the awesomeness, Simon."

"Well, then maybe when I finish school, I'll be able to take you on in a fight."

"You wanna dual?" She giggled. "That'll be awesome."

"Great. It's a date then."

"Okay," Jonathan said, jogging back to them. "I managed to get an idea of where the place is. We should be able to get to the academy in an hour on horses, and then about two hours to Fell."

"Horses?" Simon asked, suddenly looking a bit pale.

"I like horses," Clary smiled, remembering a short summer in riding camp. She took Simon's hand. "You can ride with me."

"I'll come along too," Jace said, suddenly standing next to Jonathan. "My families home is just past the school, so I can lead the way."

"You have a horse?" Jonathan asked.

"Of course I have a horse. I'd be willing to bet I'm a better rider than all of you."

He wasn't. Jonathan had been riding his entire life to and from Alicante, and probably would have won awards if he were a mundane. Jace was better than Clary, but her experience was two months at camp. Simon was on the horse behind her, and she wasn't used to that either. With her skill and Jonathans combined, she was willing say they were better than Jace.

"It's the city," he shrugged. "I'm out of practice."

"I haven't been on a horse in almost two years," Jonathan smirked. "It's easy. You're just weak."

"You know, being that I'm showing you the way, perhaps you shouldn't be so rude. Since I'm acting as the guide, I'm essentially the hero right now, and you're telling me I'm wrong. You should never tell your hero they're wrong—even if they say the sky is purple and made of hedgehogs." He rode ahead.

Jonathan winked at Clary. "I could actually probably find the way myself, but if you say so."

Simon chuckled behind her, and loosened his hold on her waist slightly. "This isn't awful," he admitted. "A bit bumpy though."

"Yeah," she agreed. "I'd rather take a car, but they don't work here." She shook her head. "It's gonna suck."

"What do you mean?"

"I won't even be able to talk to you while you're here," she said, trying not to pout. "I know you'll be okay and everything, but I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Clary, but it'll be okay. We can have a cool old Hollywood-style reunion the next time we see each other—complete with slow-motion runes!"

"There are no slow-motion runes," Jace said, completely oblivious. "That would be completely pointless."

"Well, if everyone else had speed runes," Clary began, grinning as she looked back at Simon. "And we had none, it would kind of be the same, right?" No one really answered, and she almost wished Alec and Isabelle were here so that Alec could say something extremely oblivious like, 'why would we have speed runes if there were no demons around?' That would be hilarious. Or, 'runes are meant for fighting, not fun.' But the two siblings were back in the city saying hello to people they knew and checking out the weapons shop. Clary was only a little jealous of them.

"The academy should be just over the next hill," Jace said from ahead of them.

He was right. Shadowhunter Academy was a massive building, smaller than what Clary imagined a castle to look like, but with the same idea. It looked a bit run down, but in the way schools seemed to be. In need of some TLC.

Jonathan helped Simon and me off the horse before grabbing Simons duffel off his own—there hadn't been any space with two people riding. Jace said his own goodbye before heading further the direction they'd been going.

"Here," Jonathan said, handing Simon a box just a little smaller than a shoe box.

"What is it?"

"Stationary. Phones don't work here. I wrote down our address is New York, and put stamps on all the envelopes. Write to us, write to your mom." He shrugged. "I know it's a bit outdated as far as communication—"

"Thank you," Simon said, blushing. "Thanks. I'll definitely write you guys."

Clary hugged Simon tightly. "Don't get too buff," she said into his shoulder. "Your mom thinks it's a fancy boarding school, not military school. You don't want to freak her out."

"I won't," he chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "Be safe in New York without me. I'm sorry I won't be there to help you with everything. But you know where to find me."

"I know. Be careful, okay?"

"I will."

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jonathan turn around as if he was admiring the small castle. She took that as the go-ahead, and stood on her toes to kiss Simon. He kissed her back for a moment before pulling away and looking over at her brothers back and blushing.

"Alright," he said. "Well, I have a meeting with the Dean, so I probably shouldn't keep her waiting."

Clary nodded and hugged him tightly one more time. "Learn something," she said.

He saluted her, grabbed the bag he'd discarded on the ground and hoisted it up onto his shoulder.

"Don't cause trouble," Jonathan joked, patting Simons shoulder that didn't have a bag on it. "We won't be here to help get you out of it."

"As if you could," Simon rolled his eyes. "Keep me in the know about your mom, okay?" Then, he leaned closed to Jonathan and whispered something to him that Clary couldn't hear.

Jonathan nodded. "You got it." _Take care of Clary for me_.

"Are you serious?" Clary demanded, not caring that her voice was too loud and too high as she slammed her hand onto the table. The china clattered against itself and tea almost splashed over the sides of the blue and white cups.

Ragnor Fell in his ancient glory—supposedly, as he looked more like an over-worked Harvard professor than a multi-century warlock—sat across from Clary and Jonathan with a blank expression that said he'd been expecting her tantrum—his looks said tantrum. She wasn't throwing one. Jonathan looked angry and confused, with a hint of disbelief as he stared at the warlock.

"Do you understand what's going on?" Clary continued, standing up to glare at Fell just above eye-level. "The mortal cup is missing. Shadowhunters and downworlders alike are possibly in danger, and every mundane in the world could be at risk. Does that mean anything to you? You're the one who made the memory spell. Why should it take so damn long to reverse it?"

"Because one rarely needs an antidote for such things. Besides, I made that spell to teach other warlocks how to do it themselves. Fade asked for it, and then gave it to Bane, got it back and gave it to Grey. That's how it works. It was for learning purposes, not for actual use."

"It doesn't matter! How can it take two months to make a spell anyway! You're several hundred years old—can't you do it faster?"

He sighed and took a sip of his tea. "No, I can't. Memory spells are not that easy, miss. Especially since yours was made to fit. Twelve years is a lot of memory, and four years of constant deflection is difficult to undo."

"Will it fade on it's own?" Jonathan asked, pulled Clary down by her arm until she was sitting again.

"The current effects will, and already have—otherwise, she'd had gone unconscious through the Portal, and wouldn't have any idea that I was anything but human. But the memory of her entire life? No. That has to be undone, and it's very delicate work. It will take time to make a spell that will recover all of it. If you would prefer, I could have Bane try 'is hand at it, but I can't guarantee the results." He shook his head like it was a joke. "And as far as your mother… I can put something together for that as well. I will suggest that you wait to give it to her until you have your memory. I don't know a lot about the mundane world as it is now, but could she not leave the hospital at any time? You need to have the Cup in a safe place before she awakens." He nodded a couple times. "As far as timing…I can try to get it done faster, but I can't promise."

Clary sighed. "Fine. Just please…try."

He nodded again and held out a small metal bowl that appeared out of nowhere. "I'll need some of your hair."

Sighed loudly, she pulled a knife from her boot and slashed front to back where she normally got face-framing layers done so it wouldn't ruin her cut. She dropped the hair in bowl, which instantly disappeared.

"Good," Fell grinned, leaning back in his chair and taking another sip of tea. "I shall send contact when it's finished."

"Thank you," Clary nodded.

"We should be going," Jonathan said. "We don't want to waste any of your time."

"Alright," he said, standing. "But in the future, please remember that I have all the time in the world."

Clary rolled her eyes.

Clary and Jonathan sat in a small plaza near the Gard eating gelato from a little shop. If it were any other day, Clary would have been sitting cross-legged with her sketchbook, but she'd left it at home for the day, thinking she wouldn't have a moment to pull it out. As a result, she was bored and sullen, already missing Simon, a bit angry about have to waste more time waiting for magic, and wondering how long Isabelle, Alec, and Jace would be so that they could just go home.

Of course, Magnus Bane was meant to open the Portal at five, so it wouldn't have mattered if they were all ready. But Clary was bored and ready to go home. She didn't want to wait another two hours for the Portal.

"Hey, why don't we go to the weapons shop?" Jonathan said suddenly, shifting on the bench to look at her.

"Huh?"

"It'd be fun. We don't have enough time to go to the house, but we could get some new things while we're here."

"Like what?"

"Well, we could look for something for Simon. A gift, maybe? For when he finishes at the academy."

Clary smiled at her brother. "That would be so cool! I mean, seriously. But what kind of money? All I have is dollars."

He shrugged. "Don't worry about it. I came prepared." He winked at her and stood up.

They threw away their melted gelato, and head off through the winding streets.

Clary had to admit that the city was beautiful. It had a charm to it that was somewhere between old-world France and serious fairy-tale. Some of the buildings were Victorian and Gothic, others more modern clap-board style homes, all taller than they were wide. Colors were everywhere despite the shadowhunters seemingly natural instinct to go black. And there were shadowhunters everywhere, filling the streets and the shops. Some wore gear, others normal clothes. There were women wearing hijabs and sari's, even some in traditional kimonos and face paint. Children ran around playing with wooden swords, and teens sat around reading books and talking.

It was amazing to Clary that there were so many different people here who all go along simply because they shared an ancient genetic, yet people around the world still couldn't get over skin color. Was racism a thing among these people?

Canals cut the city seemingly at random, and bridges connected two sides. They crossed several before arriving at the weapons shop—every time she thought those words, she imagined a dark shop with wooden walls that was lit with candles like in a video game.

In fact, it wasn't much different. The only real difference was that this place was lit with witchlight, not candles.

The owner who's name Clary didn't remember, helped them look through the weaponry and let them try things out in the open front space of the shop.

"A gift, eh?" She said. "For whom?"

"My friend," Clary said. "He's going to the academy, so I want to give him something when he ascends."

She nodded carefully and smiled. "What about something custom?"

"I would, but he doesn't know about the name."

"Good point. Uhm…something simple perhaps? A custom item could come as a gift of ascention, but for finishing the program…" She walked behind a case of various items and pulled out a long handled dagger with the symbol for Angelic sight at the base of the blade. "How about this?"

The blade was less than a foot long and came to a dangerously shiny point. Clary could see the ceiling in it's perfect reflection. The handle was the same material as the blade, wrapped in a corset pattern with gold silk ribbon, and adorned with yellow amber stones. _Like sunlight_ , Clary though.

"That's perfect," she said, not exactly knowing why it was.

"Does it have a sheath?" Jonathan asked, smirking at his sister.

"Yes," said the owner, pulling it out of the case. The outside was black with an attached belt, and the inside was the same gold as the ribbon on the daggers handle.

"How much?" Clary asked. She ignored the anxious bubbling feeling she always got when it came to money. Her mom had always had enough for things they wanted, but that was in the mundane world. Price had always held them back, but they'd made it work. The mantra of 'don't spend too much' rang through her head, along with memories of her mother talking about bills and credit.

"What currency?"

Jonathan stepped forward. "Credits," he said, holding up a piece of thick paper the size of a diploma. The woman took it and smiled.

"Thank you, Mr. Morganstern. Shall I wrap this for you?"

"Please."

She sheathed the dagger and went about preparing a box. "Is your father here as well? I haven't heard much about either of you in a long time." She blushed slightly, but hid it as she turned around.

Jonathan rolled his eyes at Clary. "No, he's back in New York helping Mayris at the Institute. I'm sure you've heard the bad gossip about our family, but please disregard it. All we've done in the past years has been look for Clary." He wrapped an arm around his sister.

"Ah, yes, I thought you looked familiar! It's good to see you again!" She smiled happily. "Last time I saw you, you were just a little thing."

"She still is a little thing," he joked, earning a smack on his chest.

"Yeah!" Clary grinned. "It has been a while. I've…I've been with my mom." She wasn't sure what exactly that would mean to anyone, but it was the truth. She couldn't very well say that she didn't remember this woman, let alone the shop.

"Anyway, here you go," she said, sliding the silk-wrapped box across the counter. The were a new slip of paper on top, which Jonathan took. Clary remembered him using something similar to buy the gelato in the square, but hadn't thought much of it. Credits?

Outside, they made their way back to the square in front of the Gard, walking slowly to take in the sights of their home city.

"What are credits?" Clary asked when they were about a block away from the shop.

"Oh, that. Well, it's the money that shadowhunters make for spoils and hunts and things. Here, or at an Institute, the credits can be used to pay for service or items. It can also be exchanged for mundane money—wherever you live. We got most of ours exchanged for dollars, but Father saved some of my credits for me." He pulled the paper out, and handed it to Clary. It had his name on it, handwritten by the shop owner, with an amount that Clary thought must have been a lot. "That number is equal to Euros, I think. So just a little bit less than dollar amount."

"Wow," she said. It was a lot. No wonder they could afford to rent such a nice house. Why hadn't her mother had so much? Sure, it was four years later, but they'd pinched their pennies a few times. Perhaps she hadn't taken a lot to begin with. Since she was married, a lot of that money was probably Valentines. But all of this money was Jonathans! Was it like giving your kid a twenty to see a movie, or did her brother actually earn all of this on his own? _Father saved some of my credits for me_. No, it was definitely Jonathans. "Are you going to exchange it for dollars?"

He shook his head. "Father asked me not to. He said he'll fund us just fine, and I should continue saving my credits for when we return."

"Return?" Clary asked.

"Yes. When all of this is over, we can move back home together." He blinked down at her. "Oh, sorry. Yes, we'll be moving back. This is our home, it's where we're meant to be."

"But what about Simon?"

"He's in school to learn to be one of us. He'll be here too."

"I meant his family."

"I'm not sure. It'll come up eventually, but it's ultimately Simon's decision."

"But I like New York."

He nodded. "I do too, and we will be there for a while, but the house is rented from another shadowhunter family so we'll have to leave when they come back. And the only reason you're in New York in the first place was because of mother and now Simon. We're only there because of mother. Are you okay?"

Clary had stopped walking. They were at the Gard now, right by where they had been sitting earlier. "I'm fine," she said. "I just…didn't know. Sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," He told her. "I assumed you know. I mean, I guess I assumed that it was assumed. Look, if you don't want to live here, I'm sure we can work something out. The New York Institute is lacking in people, and could always use more. I think father is starting to like it here too. He likes helping them out."

She nodded. "I do really like New York."

Of course, she knew it wasn't really home. In the past she could remember, she'd never had a home. They'd always moved around, and left before the dust could really settle. She'd never felt at home in a _place_. Her mom had been her home, and with everything happening, her home had become Simon and Jonathan and her dad. The idea of leaving to live in Alicante, in the house that she saw in her dreams, the house Jonathan remembered her in, the place they'd grown up together in a life she didn't recall…The idea of moving to a place she called home…it was a foreign idea, and she wasn't sure how to feel about it.

But staying in New York? She wasn't sure if it was really an option. In the back of her mind she'd known they wouldn't stay there despite the rented house and cars, but she hadn't actually thought about it. New York wasn't home, but it was where she lived. And now there was talk of moving once again.

Did the moving ever end?

"Who actually owns the house? Where are they?" She asked suddenly, sitting down on the short brick wall that surrounded the square.

"Oh, the Starkfords? They alternate between New York and Israel, I think. They're really nice people and great shadowhunters…" Jonathan went on, talking about the Starkfords, and then on to other shadowhunter families. The conversation eventually went on to shadowhunter last names, and they began thinking of good ones for Simon when he ascended.

Before Clary knew it, it was five till five and the Lightwoods arrived, chatting like the trio they were. Then the Portal opened, and they went through, back to New York.

As they did, Clary felt the sink of her heart, knowing she was leaving the place where Simon was.

 _I hope he likes the gift_ , she thought she stepped through. _He'll make an amazing shadowhunter_.


	20. Chapter 20

_Clary,_

 _This school is a mess. The only reason people could send their kids or friends here is because they've never seen the inside. Oh my GOD. The toilets don't work and all we have to eat is this weird soup because the Dean ordered too much._

 _Other than that, however, it's fine._

 _My roomie is nice, a little on the flashy side I think. Did you know that shadowhunters aren't huge fans of mundanes? Yeah, shock to me too. They all think it's cool that I'm here though. Not-mundane Power, right?_

 _We have to ride horses here, and I hate it._

 _I was given props for archery though—summer camp came in handy._

 _How would I have gotten all of this into a text? Oh, wait, I wouldn't have. Because if I could just text you, you would have known all of this a long time ago! Wow, crazy how that works._

 _I miss you, Clary. A lot. I guess everyone around here is going home for the holidays in a couple weeks, so I hope I can see you then. Mom will be made if I don't. I put a letter to her in here, so if you could send it her way, that'd be great. I'm sure she's worried about me, being so far away in 'California' and all. Ha! I wasn't sure what kind of weird postage shadowhunters put on letters, so I didn't want to risk it. Just drop it off and tell her I didn't have enough stamps._

 _That paragraph got away from me a bit._

 _I miss you, Clary. A lot. I wish I could see you whenever I wanted. It sucks to be so far away—especially because being here is like being in another world, which makes it seem even further than a plane/portal._

 _I know you're kicking ass in your training._

 _Don't worry about me, or anything else. Just keep being your awesome self._

 _Everyone talks about your family here. Want to hear the rumors as they come?_

 _Yours,_

 _Simon._

 _Simon,_

 _It's so weird but cool to get a letter in the mail. I can't believe you actually wrote me—I feel like that girl in the Notebook, except that I'm actually getting the letters. Haha!_

 _We have to wait another few weeks for the spell to wake up mom and get my memory back. This whole thing is the worst kind of waiting game._

 _Soup sounds good! I'm making some as I write this, and hoping the microwave doesn't kill it like it always does. Jonathan says 'hi Simon, why didn't you write to me'. He's a lot more used to the whole 'getting letters' thing. Your mom sends her love in the form of the second letter in here. She chatted with me while she wrote it. It kind of looks like chicken scratches, but I'm sure you can make it out. Some in Hebrew, I think._

 _Tell me all of the rumors. Ask some of them how tall I am. I'd love to shock them by being short._

 _Apparently dad says hi too._

 _I took down my dad during training, and he looked kind of worried about me. He thinks there might have been an extended period of time between leaving Idris and starting school in Miama—that's my first actual memory. We still don't know how Luke fits into all this, but no one has seen or heard from him since mom went into her coma. I drew a picture for my dad, and he said that what mom told me about him was true—they used to be best friends, but Luke disappeared a couple months after me and mom did._

 _I wish you were here. Everything would be so much easier if you were._

 _How is school going other than soup and non-functioning toilets? Ew, by the way._

 _I miss you a lot._

 _Love,_

 _Clary M._

 _Clary,_

 _School is interesting. It's complicated and pretty intense stuff, but I think I'm doing pretty good. The history is great, but I wish my iPod worked so I could jam out while studying. That Jonathan Shadowhunter guy seems like a cool guy. Raziel too._

 _Who knew that the Bible was full of this stuff? Normal people read it every day and have no clue. It's crazy._

 _We were working on names today. I made a joke to my roomie that I should go with 'Skywalker' and he thought it was a great idea. Cultural references are completely lost on these guys—of course, he'd from the boonies, so I can't give him too much shit for it, I guess. But everyone else? One of the girls here is from California, and she didn't even get it. Where are these people living? The rocks they sleep under must be massive!_

 _I'm getting a little worried though because it sounds like theres a huge surplus of demon activity in the States right now. Hope you aren't getting into trouble, though if you can take down a grown man who's been training his whole like, I don't think you have much to worry about._

 _Tell them both I said hello!_

 _I had a dream last night that you and I were in Idris together fighting demons in the middle of nowhere, and then we woke up on the couch at my moms place and it was a dream. Then Jonathan and Jace broke the living room window and took us away to battle. It was pretty cool. Wish I could go into more detail, but in writing it would be novel-sized. I don't have that much time._

 _I miss you._

 _Simon No-Last-Initial_

 _Simon,_

 _Jonathan has been training me, but my dad has been going off to help the conclave with the demons and stuff. He keeps coming home with cuts and stuff, which gives me the chance to work on my_ iratzes _. I'm pretty good at them now._

 _This morning, we went to the Institute for training and I took down Jace—apparently he's one of the best young shadowhunters alive. He was pretty pissed and made a bunch of comments about how he was holding back and couldn't hit a girl, but I know I won that fight fair and square. Alec and Isabelle laughed at him, which made me feel bad._

 _Dad was invited to spend Christmas with some friends in Idris, so it'll just be me and Jonathan here. Your mom misses you and said she hopes you can make it back for Hanukkah, which is at Christmas time this year—yay! Let me know if you can come._

 _Around the time you should receive this letter, we should be heading to Idris to see Ragnor Fell for the magic he promised. I can't believe it's been almost two months already._

 _I can't believe my mom is still in a coma. No change in that by the way, of course, because it's magically induced. Tessa has been at the hospital with her to make sure she stays stable and doesn't wake up, but also so that no one hurts her. No one has tried, but theres a lot of rumors going around. There's also a shadowhunter at her door at all times. It's funny because they have to dress up like police officers._

 _I miss you, and I'll see you soon. Dad sent a letter to the Dean to get you out for a day while we wait to see Fell._

 _Yours,_

 _Clary M._


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N:** **sorry I've been absent for a while, my loves. My best friend was meant to keep me writing, but she got caught up in school. But I'm back now! Also, I'm soooo sorry that a few things have been messed up in the last two chapters—I forgot some of the facts I made, but don't worry. I just reread the whole thing so I remember everything I wrote. I hope you guys like the way I continue with this story, and that it inspires you to write your own awesome stuff.**

Chapter 21

Clary,

Okay, so everyone is saying stuff about how your dad totally knew about what you're mom was doing—because they're married and her 'accomplis' was his best friend. Some people think that Jonathan has superpowers (basically). Everyone is going on and on about how you're trying to seduce the shadowhunters in New York to do your bidding. And everyone, when asked, said you are probably blonde with blue eyes, cheerleader style and preppy, and a little taller than average height. Man, won't they be surprised? I haven't told them yet that I know you, so they'll really be surprised when they see us together. Ha! Can't wait.

I guess Jonathan really wants me to write him too, because I got a letter from him. He's funny. Don't tell him I told you, but I think he has a thing for me. Eek.

I can't wait to see you.

Simon.

Simon,

It's Jonathan. Duh. Clary said you're liking the academy. Personally, I would have loved to train you to our ways, and still would. I think you'd really benefit from it. Plus, that way, I can keep an eye on you and my sister. With you in Idris, she just looks kind of sad. I'd much prefer making her laugh as I take you down.

I'm only joking.

Maybe I'm just an assuming stranger, but I really do consider us to be friends, regardless of whether or not you're dating my sister. You are though, which is good. Otherwise I'd just be the weird brother who's friends with his sisters friend. Although maybe it's not much better to be friends with her boyfriend. I don't know. You tell me. As a shadowhunter, we're all friends, so I would have known you anyway. So I think it's fine.

Looking forward to seeing how 'buff' you've gotten. Don't break my sister with all that muscle. Ha.

Jonathan.

The academy wasn't set to let out until mid-day, so when they arrived in the morning, Clary and Jonathan went straight to Fell. Based on Jonathans calculations, they should make it there and back to the academy by the time Simon was released for the holidays—it was only a week, but it was better than nothing. It was pure luck that the holiday break let out at the same time as their meeting with Fell. Clary liked the way that luck seemed to be on their side.

Ragnor Fell was waiting just outside his front door with a lit pipe in his mouth, releasing a smoke that smelled like cinnamon and vanilla.

"Mornin'," he grinned. "What can I do ya' for?"

Jonathan rolled his eyes slightly before they got close. "Are we early?" He asked, noting the robe around Fell's body.

"Not at all. I just don't like waiting." He pulled a velvet pouch from his pocket and handed it to Jonathan. From the other pocket, he pulled out a small box, which he gave to Clary. "That's for you." He looked at Jonathan. "There's only a few drops in there. Just pour it over Jocelyn's forehead and she'll wake up within the minute." To Clary, he said, "In the box is a bag of tea. Brew it for three minutes, let it cool for five, then drink it all. One mug should do. You should keep the leaves though, just in case."

"How does it work?" She asked, feeling a little light headed.

"It might take a minute or two, but it might be instant. Everything should come back to you at the same time, which could make you faint, honestly. You might want to do it while sitting down." He shrugged. "I wish I could tell you more, but I won't know for sure until you fill me in. Just send me a letter about it." He waved his hand and a small piece of paper with a hand written address was suddenly tucked into the string that held the box together.

"Thanks," she said. "I will."

"Is there anything else I can do for you?"

Jonathan shook his head. "No. Thank you very much. We appreciate all the work you've done."

"My pleasure. I'm being paid by the Clave very well for this service." He nodded.

"We should be going," Clary said. She smiled at Fell. "Until we meet again," she said.

He bowed fancily. "Anytime, Clarissa."

And then they were off again, riding their horses back the way they came. This time, they were getting Simon and going home.

Simon was standing with a group of other young shadowhunter-trainees when Clary arrived at the academy. He was wearing yet another witty t-shirt with references no one else understood, and jeans. Though he didn't notice, the shirt was just a little too tight around his arms and shoulders, and the jeans were just a little too big around his hips. His hair was longer now too, hanging in his eyes to the point that he was just trying to brush it back with his fingers, but the strands wouldn't stay put.

Jonathan stayed behind, just outside the schools gates with the horses, leaving Clary to wonder through the groups of students to find her boyfriend.

When she saw him, she stopped in her tracks and almost stared. He looked so different, but exactly the same. He was still her Simon, but he wasn't mundane Simon anymore.

He was a shadowhunter.

"Simon!" She shouted, almost running as she waved at him.

He turned and saw her just as she flung herself into his arms. Had he not spent the last two months training, he wouldn't have fallen. Secretly, Clary wished they had fallen, if for no other reason than for the drama it would have added to their reunion.

"Clary!" He laughed, wrapping his arms around her to lift her up and swing her. "Gah, I missed you!"

"I missed you too!"

She gave him a quick kiss before hugging him tightly again. Laughing and kicking her legs to be put down, but still holding onto him.

Finally, she released him and he set her feet back on the ground. "Did you get taller?" She asked, grinning.

"No, my awesomeness is just looming over you a bit higher than usual."

She smacked his arm, but still laughed. "Shut up!" Just then, she realized that they weren't entirely alone, and she blushed. Taking his hand firmly in hers, she smiled at the group near them. "Simon, who are your friends?"

He blushed slightly. "Yeah, sorry. Uh, this is George, my roommate, and Jon, Julie, and Beatriz. Guys, this is my girlfriend Clary."

Julie's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. "Clary as in Clarissa Morganstern?" She tilted her head to the side and looked at Simon. "Why were you asking about her if you're actually her boyfriend?"

"You look a lot different than I imagined," Jon said, his tone somewhere between flirty and condescending, like it was her personal mistake that she wasn't tall, blonde, or curvy.

"Yeah," George said agreed, but without the rudeness. "I mean, aren't your father and brother blonde?"

Clary shrugged, still smiling. "My mom's a redhead."

"I heard your mother stole the cup," Jon said bluntly. "Is that true?"

"Well, my mom's in a coma, so we can't ask her. You shouldn't listen to rumors." She looked at Simon. "Jonathan is waiting for us, Simon."

He nodded and grabbed his backpack of the ground beside him. "We should get going."

"It was nice to meet you guys," Clary said to everyone but Jon.

"See you after the break!" Simon winked as they turned to leave. A short chorus of 'goodbyes' from his friends followed.

"Are you excited to go home?"

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "I'm excited to go home with you."

Clary grinned and felt her heart shudder. She was excited too.

It was decided that everyone would celebrate the holidays before anything was done about Jocelyn's coma or Clary's memories. Christmas was only two days away, and it seemed that all the shadowhunters wanted a peaceful one before hell possibly broke loose. Clary wanted to get everything over with, but even she was greatful for the wait. She wanted to spend Christmas with her boyfriend and family.

Simon's mom was in Florida for work during Christmas but would be around to see Simon for Hanukkah at the end of the week—she'd volunteered for Christmas shifts before she'd realized that Hanukkah was at the same time this year. Though Simon was down about not seeing his mom, he was excited to spend the holiday with Clary and her family.

"Woah," Simon said suddenly. He was in the backseat with Clary, Jonathan at the wheel, driving home from the Institute where they'd portaled. "Jonathan, bro, you were supposed to get on the highway!"

"What?" Jonathan said. "Oh, no, no, I wasn't. I didn't tell you? You're staying with us!"

"What? I am? Why?"

"Uh, for Christmas?" He said, like it was obvious. "You sister and mother aren't home, so you're spending Christmas with us. I even cleared an extra room for you. I though I said something about it in my letter…"

"You've been writing Simon too?" Clary asked, giggling.

"Of course I've been writing to Simon! We're friends!" He shook his head and sighed. "But yeah, you're staying with us. Unless you really wanna go home to your empty house."

Simon shook his head. "Nah, I'm good."

"I thought so."

"And your dad's okay with this?"

"Yeah," Jonathan grinned. "Actually, it was his idea. Clary told him about your mother, and he said, 'no shadowhunter should spend Christmas alone. And no boyfriend of my daughter will either. Invite him over—I won't take no for an answer.' Seriously."

"Your impression of him is so spot on, I got chills," Simon said, his face blank.

Clary laughed. "Seriously, Jonathan. You really should have it down by now."

"Shut up," he said. "Don't make me turn this car around!"

"Oh, you mean so that dad can drive us home from the Institute?"

Valentine had taken on helping Mayrse in Roberts absence, and it took up most of his time. Apparently, there was a lot of work involved in running the place. Mayrse usually did it herself while her husband was in Idris, and she was more than grateful for the assistance. The whole thing meant that Clary and Jonathan had spent a lot of time alone at the house and at the Institute with Alec, Jace, and Isabelle. They would have been spending Christmas there, but the Lightwoods were all going to Idris to spend the holiday in Alicante, while Valentine had offered to stay in New York to essentially be the on-call shadowhunter in case of emergency.

"Father is too busy to drive you home," Jonathan smirked at the mirror at Clary. "You'd have to wait a few hours to go home."

"But then I could train with Simon!"

"Woah, there!" Simon chuckled. "I'm still too much of a noob to take you on. You'll have to wait to dual until I finish school."

She made a pouty face. "But that's gonna take forever!"

"No it won't! I'll be done before summer! We can dual all summer long."

"Okay, okay," Jonathan laughed. "Stop flirting in my backseat before I pull over and separate you two!"

They laughed.

The house was quiet when they arrived. Jonathan grabbed Simons backpack and led them up the stairs to the front door. Simon's room was across the hall from Clary's, set up very plainly with white bedding and a desk. His phone was charging on the nightstand, and he responded to all his messages while Clary showered. Then, he went back downstairs where Jonathan was collecting menus that were scattered across the kitchen.

"What sounds good for dinner?" He asked, holding up his stack. "Thai food delivers faster, but the pizza is classic."

"I would kill someone in Time Square for real New York pizza," Simon said.

Jonathan nodded and pulled out his phone. "I was hoping you'd say that because I already told father to pick some up."

"Is he on his way?"

"Not yet, but he'll get here faster than a delivery."

"True."

Simon sat down at the island while Jonathan went over to the fridge. He held up a can of Arizona tea. "You want some?"

"Sure."

"We have sweet tea, watermelon, and green."

"DON'T TOUCH MY WATERMELON!" Clary scream from the stairs as she ran down. She was wearing socks but no shoes, and slid across the floor to grab the can from her brothers hand. She smiled sweetly at Simon. "Sorry, babe, but this one's mine."

"That's green tea," Jonathan said, holding up the watermelon.

Clary jumped to grab it, but her brother held it up higher than she could reach. "Give it!" She wined. "Dad bought that for me!"

"Then come get it!" He held the can as high as he could and grinned as she jumped for it. "Come on, Clary! Just a little bit higher—you can do it!" He laughed and nodded at Simon before tossing it across the room.

Simon jumped to the side and grabbed the can from the air. He held it out of reach as Clary ran over to him.

"Come on, Simon!" She said, trying not to laugh.

"What do I get out of it?" He flirted.

She stood on her toes to kiss him, and his arm wrapped around her waist to hold her there. Slowly, his other hand lowered, then quickly pressed the can tightly against the back of her neck. She screamed and pushed herself away as the boys laughed.

"Here," Simon said, gently tossing the can to her. He looked at Jonathan. "Green, please." He caught the can that Jonathan had grabbed when Clary dropped it in her rush to get her own from Simon.

Jonathan grabbed the remaining sweet tea from the fridge and went to lean against the counter. Clary jumped onto the space beside the fridge, and Simon remained in his chair at the island.

"You guys are mean," Clary pouted, opening her tea.

"We're not mean," Jonathan said, pretending to be offended. "I was just having some innocent fun with my little sister!"

"Innocent fun with my girlfriend," Simon piped, then he tilted his head. "Okay, maybe not _innocent_ …Hey!" He laughed, catching the roll of paper towels that Jonathan threw at his head. "What's the big idea?"

"I'm right here! Don't talk about my sister like that! She's too pure."

Simon looked at Clary and they both laughed.

"Sure," she giggled. "Pure and innocent are the perfect words for me!" Her hand deflected the plastic spoon, which went back and hit Jonathan in the shin.

"Shut up!" He said, laughing too. "I can dream!"


	22. Chapter 22

Clary sat in the middle of the bed with her knees folded up to her chin, arms wrapped around her legs. It was pitch black in her room, but her eyes were wide open. Around her, the night was quiet, and she could hear the men in the rooms around her sleeping soundly, their breath echoing through the old walls of the house. Her dad's breathing was deeper in tone and louder, but farther away. Simon's was simply deep, as though he hadn't slept well in a long time. Jonathan sounded like he was having a nightmare, his breathing shallow and quick. Her own breath was hitched and panicked.

It wasn't normal to hear everyone breathing.

But it also wasn't normal to cover the walls with drawings.

Nor was it normal to not remember drawing any of them.

Clary had woken up in the middle of the night to find her room abnormally dark. The light from her phone showed her why. In her sleep, she'd drawn dozens of pictures of her mom, of Simon covered in runes and holding the dagger she'd bought him. Drawings of Jonathan with pure black eyes, Jace with wings, Isabelle covered in vines, Alec with cat eyes standing beside Magnus Bane. Several depicted her dad on his knees in front of her mom, looking like he was begging. But more than anything, pictures of her mom surrounded by demons and blue fire.

The pictures covered the glass of the window, the frame, the drapes, her bed and all four posts, the door, her desk and chair—everything was covered with drawings stuck neatly with tape.

And in all the surrounding rooms her family slept, completely unaware that she was having a complete meltdown.

Suddenly, she heard a gasp in the room beside hers that indicated Jonathan had awoken from his nightmare. Before she knew what she was doing, Clary pulled her door open and knocked on his. She heard him gasp again, then a moment of silence before the bed springs shifted and he padded across the room, his feet bare.

"Clary?" He whispered when he opened the door. He squinted at her in the darkness of the hall, the light from his window illumination her face. "Is everything okay?"

"Can I sleep with you?" She whispered back. "Please?"

"Uh, sure," he said, hesitating the slightest bit. "Are you okay?"

"I just don't want to be alone right now, and I don't want to wake Simon."

"But you're okay to wake me up?" He chuckled, stepping aside to let her in.

She closed the door. "You weren't sleeping."

"Well, I was…" He shook his head and smiled. "Whatever. It's no big deal."

Clary followed her brother back to his bed and crawled in after him.

"Do I want to know what happened?" He asked as he wrapped his arms around her.

She moved closer to him, snuggling against his chest, her head against his shoulder. "Maybe, but I don't want to talk about it right now."

"Okay. Well, get some sleep. You look like you need it."

It wasn't until the next morning that Clary realized it was too dark for him to have been able to see how tired she was.

Clary tried to ignore the suspicious feeling she had gotten about Jonathan by reminding herself that she had done some weird things too. She'd been able to hear her family and boyfriend sleeping in the other rooms and hadn't said anything about it. It was something she decided should be kept to herself, but wouldn't have been surprised if she said something about it in a tired stupor—perhaps like her brother had. In honesty, she hadn't been completely honest with him either. So she didn't say anything about it.

Instead, she woke him up early and took him back to her own room. Simon was still asleep and the sound of the front door closing behind their dad had awoken her, and there was a note on the kitchen counter about how long he would be at the Institute that day.

"Please don't freak out," she whispered to her brother as she placed her hand on her door knob. "Because I'm freaking out, and I don't need you to be to."

"It's more drawings isn't it?" He asked, also whispering.

"A lot more. I don't remember doing any of them. But when I woke up last night they were everywhere and I panicked and came to sleep with you." She bit her lip. "Just please don't freak out, okay?"

"No promises."

He stepped into the room and turned slowly, looking at all the drawing in the light from the hallway as Clary attempted to find the light switch that was buried under paper on the wall. When she finally found it, Jonathan gasped quietly at the number of papers taped to the wall.

"Woah," he said.

He stood there for a long minute before taking a deep breath. "Okay. Wow." Then, he started moving. First, he closed the door behind his sister and began pulling all the pictures off the door and the wall around it, carefully removing the tape. He then moved to the desk and did the same, followed by the curtain, window, bed, and walls. At first, he counted each one, but gave up after a hundred before even touching the curtain. Clary took over removing the tape, and followed her brother around the room to take the pictures from him, which she placed on the desk.

"At least you used tape," he said when they were halfway done with the walls. "The Starkfords would be pissed if you'd used tacks."

She tried to laugh and failed. Thankfully, she could no longer hear breathing coming from the other room, though she knew Simon was still asleep. It wasn't even seven in the morning.

Finally, they were done. Without saying anything, they left the pictures on the desk and went downstairs for coffee, which they drank on the couch.

"Thank you," Clary said, still whispering.

"No problem. And don't worry, I won't tell father."

She blinked at him. "You won't?"

"Nope. There' no point. Yeah, it's kinda freaky right now, but it'll stop soon."

"How do you know?"

"You're drawing like that in your sleep or whatever because there's something in your memory that's trying to get out." He shrugged. "Soon you'll have all your memories back and you'll know whatever it is that you're trying to tell yourself."

"Yeah. I kinda wish I were a writer instead of an artist. Maybe then I would be more direct with myself."

"That would be nice, but I think drawing are cooler. Plus, they take longer. Can you imagine if you were writing it all? You'd probably have three novels worth by now. I can't imaging taking all that off the walls."

"Good point." She leaned her head against the back of the couch and sighed. "God, I hope this ends soon."

"It will. After Christmas, you'll get your memory back and it'll all be fine."

"Yeah, but then we have to deal with mom. If she really is the one who stole the cup and all…it's not gonna be good."

"I know. But I think it's better to know than to be in the dark. I mean, we've been searching for the Mortal Cup since you and I were born. It's important that we get it back. Who knows what could happen if it ended up in the wrong hands?"

Clary knew exactly what would happen. If the wrong person got the Cup, they could control demons. Demons would vastly outnumber the shadowhunters. The shadowhunters would die. Then the mundanes would die—probably the downworlders too. Shadowhunters kept everyone safe from demons, not just the mundanes. Everyone would die, and the demons would win. It was their goal to destroy the life in every world, and they would never stop. No shadowhunters meant no world. Aside from that, mundanes would die even faster because whoever had the cup could turn them Foresaken, command them to kill shadowhunters and downworlders along side the demons until they died. It would be a chaos from which no one was safe.

With her mom at the heart of it.

That was one thing that her drawings were telling her. She knew that that was her moms plan, even without hearing the proof. But the rest of it? The only thing she could imagine it meant was that they could stop her if Simon became a shadowhunter—which he was. Perhaps with the help of the Lightwoods and Magnus Bane they could stop her mom, stop the chaos—maybe before it started. She'd drawn a man who wore the robes of a Silent Brother, so maybe they needed his help too. She just didn't know.

She wouldn't know until she got her memories back, and maybe not even then.

"Morning, Sleepy!" Jonathan suddenly said, grinning as he looked toward the stairs.

Clary looked over her shoulder and smiled at Simon as he padded down, dressed but barefoot. "Hey, you!"

"I smelled coffee," he said.

Clary laughed. "It's in the kitchen. Mugs are above the sink on the right side."

He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. A minute later, he emerged with a steaming mug of coffee, took a big gulp of it, and sat on the couch beside Clary. "Good morning." He leaned forward to give her a kiss, making her smile. "How long have you two been up?"

"Only about twenty minutes," Jonathan shrugged. "Father came in to tell us he was headed out, so we came down to get coffee."

"You should have woken me," he said. "I would have come down too."

"I wanted to let you sleep," Clary smiled. "This is your vacation. You don't have to wake up early."

"Still." He rolled his eyes. "Wake me up next time. I don't mind."

"Okay, if you say so. But don't complain when I wake up at six."

He blinked hard twice. "You wake up at six?"

She laughed. "No way! I'm a starving artist, not sleepless." Except for the last few weeks apparently.

"Right. Sorry, I forgot." He rolled his eyes again. "So do we have any plans today?"

"Nope," she said, shaking her head. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, as I'm sure you know, I've been stuck at school for the last few weeks, and Christmas is a few days away…"

Clary suddenly wanted to beat herself in the head. "Christmas shopping," she groaned. "Ugh, I completely forgot about that!"

Jonathan laughed. "Thank the Angel I didn't forget." He shook his head, still chuckling. "I got money from father ages ago. We can all go shopping today."


	23. Chapter 23

Clary couldn't fall asleep. Or rather, she could, but she didn't want to. Well, actually that wasn't true. She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to fall asleep. What she didn't want was to wake up and see more drawings covering the walls, or to hear things that she shouldn't be able to hear. The hearing had gotten worse—the night before, she'd been able to hear traffic and the buzz of music inside cars on the highway a mile away, and conversations inside other houses. Her hearing went back to normal after about a half hour, but it was too much.

She'd slept with Jonathan two nights in a row now, and didn't want to make it a third. Though she knew he understood and was perfectly okay with it, Clary didn't want to impede on her brother. But when she was with him, she felt like everything was okay. She didn't feel like a freak who drew creepy pictures in her sleep, and could hear things that were far away. She felt…well, she felt the way she imagined she felt as a kid, comforted by her big brother. He made her feel safe. And when they woke up, she felt like it was okay—like _she_ was okay.

"Maybe you should just sleep with me tonight," he's suggested while Simon was in the shower. "Maybe if you do, you won't draw."

She still hadn't mentioned the hearing, but she'd also noticed that Jonathan seemed to have better eye sight than he let on. They were both keeping secrets. However, she was feeling more and more anxious about saying nothing. Drawing, and even sleep drawing, had always been something she'd done—at least for the last four years. Yes, drawing as much as she was was abnormal. The hearing was what was really freaking her out. Maybe Jonathan could explain it—or help her to figure out why it was happening. But she wasn't sure she wanted to say anything about it, really just hoped it would stop once she got her memories back.

"No," she said, shaking her head carefully. "I think I'll be okay. Besides, I feel bad hogging your bed."

"Okay, but if you need to, you can just come in. No need to knock or anything."

She smiled. "Thanks, Jonathan."

Now, she wondered if it was the best idea to reject the offer. It was past midnight, and her hearing was still normal. They'd had a long day of Christmas shopping and she was beat. All she wanted was to lay down and sleep. She was beginning to care less and less about whether she slept in Jonathans bed or her own. Was it really a big deal if she took half of her brothers bed?

Why couldn't she just have a peaceful night of sleep? No visions, no drawing, no weird hearing…just a deep, dreamless sleep.

Sighing, Clary got up off her bed and stretched her body out—which she immediately regretted because she felt instantly more tired, despite the unsettlingly loud popping of her joints.

Hoping it would keep her from sleeping, she hadn't changed out of her jeans and t-shirt. Now, she went over to her dresser and pulled out her sleeping shorts.

At least if she slept with Jonathan, he could wake her up if she started drawing. At least she wouldn't have to be afraid of waking up to hundreds of pictures. At least she wouldn't be alone.

As quietly as she could, Clary opened her bedroom door and tiptoed a few steps to Jonathans door, where she stopped and looked around.

A thin bar of light was bright and impossible to miss under Simons door. She stood there for a moment, just staring at it, so she saw the lines of movement as Simon walked across the room to the door, paused, and turned the light off. Feeling only slightly creepy, Clary stood in the hallway and listened to Simon walk back to his bed.

Realizing she'd been standing like a total weirdo for almost ten minutes, Clary sighed quietly and walked to Simons door. She didn't knock before easing the door open. It closed almost silently behind her.

"Simon?" She whispered. "Are you awake?"

He sat up tiredly in his bed and she could see the outline of his torso in the light from the window. "Clary? Are you okay?"

Why did everyone ask that? He didn't sound like he'd been asleep though. She padded across his room and wrapped her arms around herself. "C-can I sleep with you?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I just don't want to be alone."

She saw him nod. "Sure." He pulled back the blanket so she could climb into the bed with him. "Though I didn't think we'd be sleeping together so early in our relationship."

"I do mean sleep," she said, pausing with one leg on the bed. "Not the other stuff!"

Laughing quietly, he took hold of her arm and pulled her onto the bed beside him. "Don't be so serious." He pulled her body up against his, hugging her to himself and tossing the blanket over them. "Your brother is across the hall. Nothing but sleep is safe—and that's barely because you dad is close too."

Her arm went over his side as she got comfortable in his arms, in his bed, and she smiled contently. "Thanks for letting me sleep here, Simon."

"As though it's an inconvenience," he scoffed. "Are you comfortable?"

"Mhm," she smiled.

"Good." He kissed her forehead, and she looked up at him to kiss his lips.

He kissed her back, pulling her body closer to his, making her smile again. She reached up to hold the back of his head and rolled until she was above him, swinging her leg over his body. Simons hands rested on her waist, letting his fingers trail up and down her sides, then up and down her back slowly.

Clary realized as they kissed that it felt like forever since they had. She loved kissing him before, and loved it even more now. Simons hands were more confident, and his body was stronger and firmer against hers.

No longer sleepy, she moved her lips from his mouth to his jaw, kissing and licking his skin until she got to his neck. He let out a quiet gasp as her teeth ran across the sensitive skin, biting gently.

And then Simon rolled them again so that he was on top of her, body pressed tightly as he bit and sucked and licked and kissed her neck. His move went down to her collars and over the tops of her breasts through her shirt. Clary grabbed his hair to bring his mouth back to hers and kissed him hard, squeezing her hands to pull his hair. Weighing down on her, one of his hands slid across her skin at her hips and up under her shirt, while the other hand teased the skin at her hips and along the hems of her shorts.

Clary's own hands were on Simon—his shoulders, his hips, his back, his chest. With an almost animal gasp, he pulled his body up and ripped the shirt up over his head. Clary followed suit, throwing her shirt to the floor and exposing her stomach and breasts. In the light from the window, she could see the muscles of Simon's body, and knew he could see her just as clearly.

Simon's mouth was back on Clary's but didn't stay there. He kissed down her jaw and neck to her chest, smiling as he did when he felt her body respond. Her hips raised, back arching as a pleasured sigh escaped her. Simon wasn't sure, but the sigh sounded almost like his name.

He brought his lips back to hers again, kissing her hard.

Clary turned her head to the side slightly. "S-Simon," she whispered. He started kissing her neck again. "Did you hear that?"

"I didn't hear anything."

"Hm…I guess I imagined it."

They started kissing again, harder and more passionately than before. Their hands moved faster across each others bodies, their breath hot and almost loud.

They didn't hear the sound of the blanket falling to the ground with a whispered thud. They didn't hear the hall light flick on. They also didn't hear the door open.

They did, however, see the sudden light streaming in.

"Oh, god!" Jonathan said, covering his eyes and letting out a stream of quiet curses. "Really? Are you kidding me? No. I'm—no, just no! I'm going back to bed." He fumbled for the door knob as Clary and Simon struggled to cover themselves. "Father got called to the Institute and I heard a noise—but I'll tell you later! I'm sorry!"

The door slammed closed and the couple listened for a long minute, mortified, as Jonathan stumbled back to his room, turned the hall light off, and slammed his door. Clary was pretty sure the thud she heard after that was Jonathan throwing himself onto the bed, still spouting a steady stream of profanity.

Slowly, Clary looked up at Simon, still on top of her, but now holding himself up on his hands and knees.

"That was _so_ embarrassing," she squeaked, covering her face with her hands and sliding them down her cheeks.

"And here I thought I was making progress in getting your brother to like me," Simon sighed. It sounded like a joke, but his face was the color of a tomato with embarrassment.

"Should we talk to him?" Clary asked. "I mean, to tell him it wasn't what it looked like?"

"Wasn't it?"

"No!"

"I mean…" He cleared his throat. "It kind of was."

Obviously, Clary couldn't deny that it had been heading in that direction. "Okay, a little, but not exactly! I mean…we were just kissing mostly."

"Mostly," he clarified. "But imagine what it looked like to him."

She honestly didn't want to. "Maybe I should go back to my room…"

"But then you look guilty," he said. "Clary, we weren't doing anything wrong. You know that, I know that, and Jonathan knows that. Okay, maybe he doesn't exactly know—but still." He shook his head. "Listen, let's just go to sleep, okay?"

"Okay," she said. He gave her a quick kiss and got off the bed to grab one of the shirts than had been thrown to the floor. It was his, but he handed it to Clary.

"Put this on."

She did. Simon crawled back onto the bed with the blanket in hand and pulled it over them. This time, Clary faced away from him so they were spooning. This time, she didn't kiss him. Her face still felt hot.

"Goodnight for real," Simon whispered in her ear, making her shiver. "We'll comfort your brother in the morning."

"At least dad isn't here," she giggled. "That totally would have woken him up—and then we really would have been busted."

"Thank GOD your dad wasn't here!"

They both laughed and then were silent. Within ten minutes, they were both asleep.


	24. Chapter 24

Clary awoke with a smile on her face and arms wrapped around her. She was hot, but didn't care. Careful not to wake the sleeping man beside her, she slid his arm from around her waist and slowly removed the blanket covering them before getting off the bed. Thankfully, the bed didn't squeak or jostle too much. At some point in the night, she'd kicked her shorts off, leaving her in a shirt that was too big and her own panties. Sighing, she went in search of the shorts.

"Clary?" Simons tired voice whispered from the bed.

"Shh," she smiled, crawling to kiss his forehead. "Go back to sleep."

"Where you going?"

"I'm gonna get some coffee. Go back to sleep, okay?"

His hand snaked up her arm to the back of her neck, pulling her face to his so he could kiss her. "Come back to bed."

"I can't," she giggled. "I need coffee. Do you want me to bring you some?"

"Not yet," he said. "I'll be down in a bit."

"Okay." She kissed him one last time before getting off the bed and heading for the door. She'd find her shorts later.

Back in her own room, she brushed her hair into a pony and dressed in her workout clothes—active leggings, a sports bra, and running shoes. She grabbed a hand towel and headed downstairs for a water bottle.

Jonathan was standing in the kitchen when she arrived, filling a bottle with ice. He was also dressed to train, with weights on his ankles. He blushed deeply when he saw her and wouldn't look her in the eye. "Morning."

She cleared her throat and went about preparing her own water. "Jonathan, about last night—"

"No, no," he said. "I assumed you were there and should have knocked first."

"It wasn't what you—"

"You don't have to defend yourself, Clary. I know what couples do, and though I wish I could still pretend you're a kid, you aren't. It's perfectly alright to—well, do that stuff with your boyfriend."

If they actually had been doing _that stuff_ , she would have blushed. Instead, she shook her head. "Jonathan, we didn't have sex." She set her bottle down on the counter and looked him in the eye. "We have not had sex. I have not had sex." She shrugged. "We were just kissing—not _other stuff_."

Jonathan released a breath that she hadn't realized he'd been holding. "You weren't having sex."

"No. We have not had sex."

"Thank god!" He said. Without warning, he crossed the distance between them and hugged her. He pulled away fast, holding her at arms length. "I mean, if you do, I don't care—that's what people do and stuff, you know, with their boyfriends. But it makes me feel relieved to know that you haven't." He laughed. "I like Simon a lot and I don't want to like him less because of that."

"You wouldn't like him less!"

"No, but I'd trust him alone with you less. God, Clary, I thought I was scarred for life."

"I would have been scarred for life." She giggled. "Thankfully, you can rest easy knowing that my virginity is very much in tact."

"Good." He sighed happily, then grinned. "You ready to train?"

"You know it!"

Training started out just like it had for the last several weeks. Without runes, Clary and Jonathan left the house and went for a five mile run, which took them about fifteen to twenty minutes. When they returned, they went immediately to the backyard to cool off and stretch. They were currently working on hand-to-hand combat for the first hour, then moved on to fighting with weapons—this week was two-handed knifes, and last week had been two handed swords—for the second hour. After that, they dueled within the lines of a spray-painted circle on the grass—the winner of the 2/3 sessions decided the weapons and runes for the next session of duel, in which there were no rules and no guidelines. That final duel session was the only one in which they could use runes.

Simon arrived outside as Jonathan was quickly re-spraying the grass circle, and offered Clary some of his coffee while she stretched and explained what they were doing.

"Do you wanna join?" Jonathan asked from across the yard.

Simon blushed slightly and shook his head. "Maybe another time. I'm on vacation."

"You really should keep it up," he said. "Otherwise you'll be behind when you return to school."

"I'll join tomorrow," Simon promised. "I wanna see what Clary's got up her sleeves before I take her on." He winked at her.

"I don't have sleeves," she joked, fingering the wide straps of her sport bra. "You're just being a scared-y cat."

"You know," he said in a condescending voice. "I came here to have a good time, and I honestly feel so attacked right now."

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah, we'll see how attacked you feel when—ah!" She let out a surprised scream as Simon tackled her, having handed his cup to Jonathan when she wasn't looking.

Simon had his arms around her waist in the football-style tackle, and was pinning her body to the ground when she recovered. Almost faster than he could process, Clary had pulled her arms from his grasp and pushed him off so she could kick herself back into a standing position. From his kneel, Simon kicked his leg out to swipe hers from beneath her, but she was faster, kicking her body up to flip and landing back on her feet just as he spun around and stood to face her.

She was just pulling her arm back to strike when Jonathan began clapping. "Nicely done, you two."

He kept speaking his praise, giving pointers on posture and fighting form, but Clary suddenly wasn't listening. Her heart was pounded a thousand miles a minute, and her breath wasn't even labored. Her skin felt hot, hands itching for that thrill, the one she was suddenly ripped from with the sound of her brothers applause. She'd never felt this before, and especially not so intensely.

The thrill of a fight.

When she trained with Jonathan, it was mostly instructional. They would spar, and he would correct her form or praise her strikes. Even with Jace, the most aggressive fighter she'd worked with, she never felt it. Every strike she made was based on an instincts she didn't really understand, combined with the careful corrections from everyone who taught her. She was a natural, yes, but she'd never understood how or why. She did now.

The thrill of battle.

There was a reason she'd never felt it before. Every fight she'd had was careful and for the purpose of learning and getting strong, and her demon kill in the park had been immediately followed by making sure Simon was okay. But this fight…though meant to be playful, Simon had attacked her and brought out this animal feeling, the carnal need to fight—to fight and to win. She could feel it, the need to fight and be fought—for real—and it was coursing through her veins, pounding in every cell of her body.

And she loved it.

She carried the blood-boiled feeling as long as she could, through the rest of their training and into their dual. She tried to harness it as she fought against her brother.

When training finished, she felt drained and almost empty, lacking that feeling of being so alive. Her hot shower felt cold compared to the heat she lacked in her skin, the clothes she put on felt restricting yet too lose, and the coffee she drank tasted like cardboard compared to the spicy aftertaste of the fight.

"Father won't be home until tonight," Jonathan said. The three of them were sitting in the kitchen eating leftover pizza, Clary and Simon holding hands below the counter. "I guess there was a situation last night and he decided to stay at the Institute afterwords."

"Is everything okay?" Simon asked around his food.

"Sounds like it." A new text came into his phone and he paused to read it. "Oh, he's going Christmas shopping. That's why he'll be late. He said he'll pick up food on the way." He put his phone down on the counter. He wasn't sitting, just leaning forward with his elbows down.

"Does he usually stay out late?"

"He didn't used to," Jonathan admitted. "When we were younger, I mean. But lately he's been helping out at the Institute all the time. He's been staying late a lot."

"He's usually here during the day though," Clary said. "Teaching me about runes and history. I've started learning Latin and Greek, and he wants to teach me Romanian too."

Jonathan grinned. "Română este unul bun pentru a învăța."

Clary gave him a look of confusion. "Uhm, yeah." She looked back at Simon. "Anyway, Dad wants me to learn it. He thinks it'll help me. I guess you never know when you'll need to know Romanian." She shrugged.

"Română este unul bun pentru a învăța," Jonathan was still grinning.

She rolled her eyes at him. "You know that neither of us speak Romanian, right?"

He nodded. "I know. I just love that look you get when you hear a language you don't understand."

"I don't have a look like that!"

Simon laughed. "You do! It's adorable."

"I don't!"

"Da, tu într-adevăr," said Jonathan, causing Clary to pout.

Simon laughed again and Clary smacked his arm. "Shut up!" She said. "I'll know what it means when I learn Romanian. Stop making fun of me!"

"Only when you stop being so adorable," Simon said, earning another smack. "What?"

Now Jonathan laughed. "Okay, okay! I'll stop."

"Thank you."

"Cu plăcere."

Clary threw her empty water bottle at him, but he caught it, laughing as he tossed it into the sink. "I'm done."

Not long after, Simon got a call from his old band mates seeing if he was in town for the holidays and if he wanted to hang out. He agreed and invited Jonathan to go with him. Not really wanting to hang out with a bunch of boys, Clary decided to turn down her own invitation and stay home.

In the house, quiet and alone, she went up to her room to work on the graphic novel she'd been neglecting for weeks.

She had to tweak some details—in the event that it became a huge hit, she didn't want other shadowhunters to get upset or anything—and before she knew it, it was starting to get late. Her dad wasn't home yet, and neither were Jonathan and Simon. Her phone showed no missed calls or texts. She knew her dad was going to bring dinner home, and that the guys would wanna talk about their day out, but Clary was suddenly too tired to wait for any of them.

Not bothering to change her clothes, she kicked off her shoes and crawled into bed. She was too tired to get under the covers, or adjust her body so her bra didn't poke her, or even to turn off the lights. Suddenly, she was too tired to do anything but sleep.

 _Clary stood in Alicante at the base of the demon towers that the city was known for. There was no one around her, and the city was lit like daylight, but the sky was dark red and black. She was dressed in Gear and was holding her stele like a pencil. In front of her, staining the demon towers like blood on a white sheet, was a single rune she'd never seen before._

 _As she looked at it, it suddenly expanded rapidly, flying up along the_ adamas _surface until the entire tower was covered in dark blood._

 _"Clary, what have you done?!" Jonathan shouted, suddenly behind her._

 _She spun around and dropped the stele. She didn't remember anything. One moment she was sitting at her desk drawing and the next she was standing with Jonathan in Alicante, his face a mask of shock, horror, and disbelief._

 _Spinning around, Clary saw the massive blood colored demon tower, and watched as a flash of light exploded from it, throwing her and her brother down to the cobble of the street._

 _The demon towers were the color of tainted blood, and the light expanded until it reached the edge._

 _Then the demons came._

 _Out of nowhere they appeared in the streets of the city as the wards fell to the ground. They flooded the streets, flying and slithering through the gaps of open doors, shattering windows and breaking down walls. Screams erupted from the stores and houses as the demons attacked the hiding shadowhunter children, not caring that they were babies, caring only that they were alive._

 _Destruction poured around her as Clary lay powerless to stop it, unable to get up, or even move._

 _"Stop!" She screamed. But nothing so much as paused._

 _"Clary!" Jonathans voice cried._

 _She looked over, and was suddenly able to move. She rose to her feet slowly, her eyes not straying from the sight before her._

 _Jocelyn Morganstern stood only a few feet away, dressed in gear, hair loose around her face. She'd always been pretty, but with the bloody sky and tower behind her, hair waving savagely in the breeze, she looked like a monster, a villain. One of her hands held Jonathan, her long fingers on his cheek, nails digging in._

 _The other hand held a seraph blade to his throat._


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: This chapter is meant to be a fluffy filler, and the next will continue the plot** **J** **It's short simply because I wanted to get it online before going to bed. You're welcome.**

Clary awoke once again in Simons arms, this time in her own bed. When she opened her eyes, she smiled to see no new drawings. Simon hadn't slept all night with her. He'd come in around six that morning. The door opening had woken her up, and she'd told him to get in bed with her before anyone woke up.

Now it was closer to eight, and Simon was beginning to stir again.

Carefully, Clary rolled to face him and began gently kissing his face. "Wake up," she whispered. "It's morning."

"Just five more minutes," he mumbled, snuggling her closer.

She giggled, pulling away and taking his hands. "Come on, Simon, wake up!" Throwing the blanket off, she climbed on top of him and shook his shoulders gentle. He smiled, but squeezed his eyes tighter. Leaning down, Clary pressed her lips to his neck, right below his hear and whispered, letting her lips move against his skin, "It's Christmas."

His hands were suddenly on her hips, pushing her back and jumping on top of her, kissing her as they fall back against the bed. Hands went up and she thought he was going to touch her breasts, but instead they moved at the last second to tickle her sides under her arms.

Squealing for him to stop, she squirmed under him, laughing with him as he tickled her.

"Stopstopstopstop!" She screamed, unable to get a good enough hold on him. "P-please! I'll do anythiiing!"

His hands paused and he smirked down at her. "Anything?"

She nodded. "Anything—just stop tickling me!"

"Eternal servitude sounds good to me."

"Seriously? That is so childi—ahhh!" He started tickling her again. "O-okay, okay!" He stopped. "Eternal servitude it is. Just stop!"

Simon nodded, smiled, kissed her quickly, and jumped out of bed. "Awesome. Now get up. It's Christmas!" He winked before heading back to his own room to change.

Rolling her eyes and huffing, Clary got up and get dressed. She tended to sleep in just a shirt and underwear—tonight it had been the big shirt she'd stolen from Simon. Now, she threw her hair up in a messy bun and pulled on a pair of loose jeans, tucking the front of the shirt into the front and pulling her Christmas sweater over it. The shirt was just a white tee, so it went along fine. Shoving her feet into slippers, she grinned and threw the door open, practically running downstairs.

In the living room was the big fake tree they'd bought at Target, covered in plastic ornaments, surrounded by the gifts they'd bought. Off to the side slightly was a big brown duffle bag she'd never seen before. As she walked into the room, Jonathan and their dad walked in from the kitchen carrying coffee and small breakfast items.

"Merry Christmas!" Jonathan grinned, setting his things down so he could hug her.

She hugged her dad too. "Merry Christmas!"

"Where's Simon?" he asked.

"He's getting dressed," she shrugged. "He'll be down in a minute." She saw her dad give Jonathan a look that said 'how does she know that?' but she ignored it as she jumped over the back of the couch to grab one of the coffee cups.

Simon received hugs from the two men when he arrived a minute later, and was offered coffee as well. He plopped down beside Clary, putting his arm around her. Jonathan began making piles of gifts based on who they were for, and Valentine saw on the armchair beside the duffel.

"Hey dad?" Clary said. "What's in the bag?"

"I think it's from Santa," he said, looking at the bag with a fake questioning look. He picked it up and unzipped it to reveal gifts wrapped in bright red paper. He picked one up to examine the name on it. "Ah, this is for Simon." He tossed it.

Simon caught the box in mid-air and looked at the sticker that had his name typed on it. There was no indicator of who it was from. He chuckled. "Santa, eh? Right. Can I open it?" When Valentine nodded, Simon shook the box gently before ripping the paper off. "Oh my god! Who is this from, seriously?"

"What is it?" Jonathan asked.

Clary leaned over to look, and gasped. "Woah, seriously? Dad!"

He bowed slightly in his chair. "You guys are a little old for Santa, but they're my Santa gifts. Clary! Jonathan!" He tossed two boxes at the same time.

In the three boxes were the expensive new Apple Watches. Simons was red, Clary's was rose-gold, and Jonathans was black.

"Oh my god, Dad!" Clary gasped. "Thank you!"

"Woah!" Jonathan said, almost laughing in his shock. "Father! Thank you!"

"Thank you so much!" Simon said, grinning like mad.

The bag continued to have gifts for them. Along with the Apple Watches, there were Bluetooth headphones, wireless chargers, a couple of expensive-looking weapons with personal touches…Clary had to wonder just how much her dad was making. He must have been getting paid to help out at the Institute to afford all of this.

And then came the gifts under the tree—after another pot of coffee had been made.

Jonathan received a set of duel blades from his father that had brilliant ruby accents and red silk ribbon flowing from the handles; a set of books by his favorite author, also from his father; a new pair of running shoes and casual dress shoes from Simon; a TV series from Clary, as well as a poster-painting of Alicante, which she'd painted herself.

From Valentine, which he wasn't expecting, Simon was gifted a specialized weapons belt for a back-hanging bow, and a set of gold-ribbon wrapped arrows—having heard that Simon was exceptional at archery. Jonathan had collaborated with his father and bought Simon a matching bow. Clary, not in on the collab, had gotten half a dozen t-shirts in different colors that had witty lines and nerdy references, as well as a hand-painted TARDIS poster-painting.

For her dad, Clary had painted a poster of herself and Jonathan as children wearing Gear that was much too big for them in a semi-realistic style; Simon bought a heavy duty and waterproof phone case, a pair of touch-screen compatible black gloves, and a water bottle infuser—having talked to the man about healthier eating; finally, there was a picture frame of Jonathan and Clary, a seraph sheath, and a shiny shield with the Morganstern crest across the front from Jonathan.

Clary received a short-handled emerald accented rapier and sheath from her dad, along with a special tablet for drawing that connected automatically to the printer she had; a small collection of the headbands she liked and a retractable staff from Jonathan; a new set of graphite colored pencils and a big spiral bound drawing books with a matching mini version the size of a manga book from Simon.

It was snowing outside when the gifting was done, so Simon and Clary decided to go for a walk after putting their things away and downing the rest of the coffee. Valentine decided to check up on the Institute because no one was there, and asked Jonathan to tag along.

"I really didn't expect to get anything from your dad," Simon admitted as they walked.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I was pretty sure Jonathan would pick something up, but not your dad. It was really great of him."

"He's a pretty great guy."

"No arguments here," he chuckled, wrapping his arm around her. "And he has a pretty great daughter."

"Well, I have a pretty great boyfriend," she flirted. "So I guess it's all full-circle or whatever."

"We are pretty great."

She laughed. "We really are." Skipping ahead, she spun around in the falling snow and stuck her tongue out to catch flakes on it.

In the cold and piling snow, the couple walked around for a long time. By the time they got back to her street, there was at least two inches of snow on the ground. Giggling, they threw snow at each other and fell backward to make angels in it.

When they returned to the house, they were both soaking wet and freezing, but still laughing. Seeing that the car wasn't back, Simon pressed Clary against the door inside and kissed her hard. They were giggling still, kissing playfully as they rid each other of the cold, soaked jackets and scarves. Upstairs, the playful kissing and touching continued as they removed the rest of their clothes in the hall and tossed them into their own rooms. Pausing to grab dry clothes, they went into Clary's bathroom and decided to shower together. Thankfully, the others weren't back when the shower was done, but they still dressed quickly, pausing to kiss each other an poke teasing fun at each other.

Finally, tired and tingling from the hot and cold, they lay on Clary's bed in each others arms atop the covers and fell asleep with big smiles on their faces.

Unfortunately for Clary, sleep brought back the dream—the nightmare that plagued her, the one that never finished. The one where her mother held a blade to her brothers throat before she woke up.


	26. Chapter 26

It started out just like it had the last ten times. Clary stood in Alicante's empty streets in front of the _adamas_ demon towers that warded the city for a thousand years. The symbol burned into the side, spreading dark blood like a disease across the surface until it was covered. Jonathan behind her, horrified, demanding to know what she'd done. The burst of energy as the wards fell, throwing them to the ground. Demons flooding the streets. Her mother holding a seraph blade to her brothers throat. And Clary powerless to do anything.

And then she woke up. Even if she fell back asleep, the dream would play on repeat until morning came, every single night without fail. Sometimes, there were drawings, other times there weren't. That symbol repeated itself over and over. It wasn't in the grey book, that much she knew. There was no mention of it in any of the history she read. And the only way to bring down the wards was fresh demon blood, impossible because demons couldn't enter the city with the wards up.

Jonathan had sad that her draws and dreams could be prophetic, so she didn't dare tell him about this one. If it was a vision of the future, it wasn't a good one. Clary bringing such terror and destruction to Alicante? Bringing the wards down? Allowing demons to enter it's streets for the first time in a thousand years? She couldn't think of any reason why she would. Alicante was the closest thing their people had to sacred land. It was special, it was home—the one place where shadowhunters could always return to.

She wouldn't be the one to change that.

So why couldn't she stop thinking about it?

"Clary?" Jonathan said.

Snapped out of her thoughts, she looked over at her brother. They were in the car, driving to the Institute after dropping Simon at his moms house. She'd convinced Simon to go home early to surprise his mom while she and Jonathan went to the safest place in New York to recover her memories. The New York team was due to Portal home in the next few hours, and she needed to have her memories back before they arrived home from their holiday. Then, they would conceive a plan of action in regards to her mother.

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to get coffee before we go?"

"Sure," she smiled, suddenly desperate for caffeine.

"Are you nervous?" he asked.

"I just want back what was stolen from me," she said honestly. She wanted to remember her family, her brother and dad. She wanted to help her people recover what was theirs. She wanted to know if she could trust her mother.

"It might not be what you expect."

"I know. But I can't keep going on without them."

A half hour later, they were parked outside the Institute, their coffee half gone, pulling on their coats before getting out of the car.

"It probably won't be pretty," Jonathan warned as they closed the gate behind them and paused within the glamour. "We have no idea what happened in those missing nine months, Clary."

She nodded. "I know. I don't care about that. All I care about is you and dad."

He tilted his head, confused, and Clary realized she hadn't gone into her feelings about it with him. "What do you mean?"

"Jonathan," she said, taking one of his hands in both of hers. "I love you. But that's because my heart remembers you, and a small bit of me has loved you since we met. Same with dad. And it breaks my heart every day because, without my memory, I can't love you two as much as I want to. I can't know the missing years or growing up with a family. You two have missed me more than I can even imagine, and it breaks my heart when I don't remember that life, and I see it in your eyes that I'm not the same Clary you grew up with, or that dad raised. It hurts to see that pain in your eyes when I don't know something, or have to relearn something. You missed me, but I never missed you. I couldn't. But I want to! I want to know what was missing when I couldn't see you. I want to see your face the first time I talk about something we did together as kids. I don't want to ask anymore. I want—I need to remember you and dad." She felt tears welling up in her eyes, and was only a little surprised when Jonathan suddenly pulled her into a tight embrace.

"You're still my Clary," he whispered. "You're still and always will be my baby sister. You're still reckless and adventurous and artistic, just like you always were. You don't have to remember it all to be my sister. I want you to remember us, but we don't know what happened. I don't want it to hurt you." He tightened his arms around her. "Honestly, I don't want you to remember missing me. I don't. Losing you and having to search for you, and always wondering if you were okay…that was the worst pain I've ever felt. I don't want you to feel it too, Clary. That pain almost tore me apart. The only reason it didn't was because I needed to know that you were alive, and I couldn't stop until I knew. I don't want you to know what that feels like. I love you too much to want that for you. And I don't care what everyone says or thinks—I don't care about the damn cup either. All I care about is having you back."

Clary felt hot tears fall down her face. "Jonathan…"

"If it were up to me," he said. "We would leave right now and go home to train or watch TV. I don't care if we'd have to exile ourselves from the other shadowhunters. If it were up to me…I would live a completely mundane life just to keep you safe." He pulled back suddenly, placing his hands on her shoulders and smiling tearfully. "But it's not up to me. It's up to you, and you want your memory back. So that's what we're going to do, because at the end of the day…I care about your happiness. If this is what's going to make you happy, so be it."

"Jonathan…"

"It's not up to me, Clary," he said, suddenly very serious. "It never has been. It's all your choice. Being a shadowhunter, waking up our mother, getting your memories back…It's all your choice. You are choosing to do this. And I can't do anything more than speak my mind. We have to make decisions for our own lives, and these have all been yours. So I'll stay by your side. That's my choice. I'm going to stay by your side and keep you safe. Okay?"

She hugged him. "I'm sorry. I wish I could do more to make you happy."

"Having you here makes me happy. Just don't make me search for you again, and I'll be happy."

She stepped back and grinned, taking his hand. "Deal!"

And then it was time. They walked, hand in hand, into the Institute and up to the library where Valentine was setting up for the meeting. There was a circle of chairs and tables for everyone to sit and come up with a plan of action. There was a small space in the back of the library with a small couch and a drawing pad set out on a coffee table. Also on the table was an electric kettle and the spell Ragnor Fell had given her in a mug, just waiting for the hot water.

Valentine looked up when they entered the room. He pointed out the space he'd set up for her. "Everything okay?"

Clary nodded and ran over to hug her dad.

"Are you nervous?" He asked.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she nodded once.

"Me too."

"I'll be with you," Jonathan said, touching her shoulder.

That was the plan. Jonathan was going to sit beside her and help her process the memories as they came. The drawing pad had been his idea, thinking that the rush of it all might spill out into the need to draw something. Their father had been asked to receive the New York group in the garden when they arrived, so he would be heading down there in the next few minutes. He'd wanted to stay and help, but Jonathan had suggested that too many people might overwhelm Clary in that fragile state. They'd all agreed. They had no idea what would happen when the spell was activated. Magnus Bane was sort of on stand-by, arriving with the shadowhunters from Idris, ready to intervene in the event that something went wrong. They had no way of knowing.

"I'll see you soon, my love," Valentine said, giving his daughter a final, firm hug before leaving the library.

"I love you," she whispered as the door closed, too scared to speak at full volume.

"You ready?" Jonathan asked.

She nodded and they headed across the room. Simon had texted her, and she responded while Jonathan poured the hot water over the magic-encased leaves. It smelled like jasmine.

 _Psymon: wish you could have seen my moms face when I walked in. it was great!_

 _Clary: I bet. You happy to be home?_

 _Psymon: yes, but I wish I was with you. Should have started school a few months sooner_

 _Clary: shadowhunters are so particular._

 _Psymon: yeah, you are! Please call me when it's done, or have jonathan. I want to be informed._

 _Clary: can I see you tonight?_

 _Psymon: can you?_

 _Clary: we probably won't do anything until tomorrow._

 _Psymon: should I come over?_

 _Clary: Java Jones is 24hr._

 _Psymon: what time?_

 _Clary: midnight, cuz we're rebels._

 _Psymon: it's a date._

 _Clary: awesome. My tea is ready._

 _Psymon: couldn't he have made you coffee?_

 _Clary: I'm turning my phone off for this. Send me something sweet so I have something to look forward to._

She turned her phone off and dropped it in her bag. She sat on the couch beside Jonathan.

"You ready for this?" He asked, handing her the mug of tea. The smell of jasmine was almost overwhelming.

"No," she whispered. Before he could respond, she brought the mug to her lips and drank the whole thing. When she was done, she placed the mug back on the table.

"How do you feel?"

"Nothing yet."

She waited a few seconds. Nothing.

She screamed, falling forward to the floor. The corner of the table hit her temple hard, but she didn't notice. On her hands and knees, tears falling from her eyes, she was blind.

Then the memories flooded in and she screamed again.


	27. Chapter 27

Everything she'd forgotten was suddenly there, apart of her once again, and her head felt like it was going to explode. The true memories attacked the false ones, and squeezed into place in her mind. Her mind began racing, trying to sort through the memories despite the pain and confusion, and who was shouting?

Jonathan, Valentine, Jonathan, Jocelyn, Jonathon, Simon, Jace, Jonathan, Jonathan, Jonathan, Jonathan, Jonathan. Simon! His child face, his mother, screaming and screaming and bleeding and bleeding. Jocelyn's voice trying to be soothing but sounding like a doctor about to cause pain. She was playing doctor. She was playing God on Simon. Simon! Clary, powerless to do anything, unable to move. Simon! Jonathan! Jocelyns voice in her ear as she changed her—a power she'd made and forced Clary to suppress. _It'll make you strong. I will make you strong_. Luke beating the training and history and knowledge into her. _Your mommy can't help you now little girl_. The demon. The greater demon. The angel—the angel! The safe house hidden right under their noses. Luke at the safe house. Idris. The angel, the angel, the angel. The demon, the demon, the demon. _Jonathan, please find me. Daddy, help me! Mommy please stop!_ Jocelyn smiling. _I'm here to help you become strong, Clary. My Clary…You will be stronger. You will be the greatest shadowhunter to ever live._ The demon and the angel. _I can't save the angel_ …Simon, Simon. Jonathan, Jonathan. The blood. The pain—the pain! The power coursing through her veins—the noise, the silence. The power, the power, the power she never wanted, the power she never asked for. The power she begged to be kept away. Secrets! So many secrets hidden behind the wall of the memory spell. The power, the spells, the cup—the cup! The hiding place! The safe house. Idris. New York. Idris. New York. Miami. California. New York. Idris. Idris. The power!

It was all there. Everything they needed. All of the answers were there. They now had everything they needed.

But the pain! It was too much, too intense. Clary couldn't think or focus or think or focus or think or focus or think or focus or think or focus. The pain pain pain pain was too much. She couldn't bear it. It was too much. Too much. Her mind was filled to the brim, ready to overflow, to explode. She couldn't even scream anymore, let alone speak. She felt like she was going to pass out—and wished she would! Passing out would mean ending the pain, even for a moment.

Clary knew Jonathan was beside her, calling out her name, her fathers name, calling for help. But she couldn't do anything. The pain was too much, burning her.

She was burning. She was blind.

And then, there was nothing.

 _It was a poor excuse for a bed, but the twin-sized mattress on the floor, wet and covered in stains, was all that Clary had. The floor was the slightly damp hard-packed dirt of a basement, the walls gritty and wet, and there was a single naked blub hanging from the ceiling. Clary was afraid to walk under it, fearing it may fall down or spark dangerously with all the water on the walls and ceiling. She was, in fact, surprised that it hadn't already. She half-wished the thing would electrocute her—at least then all the pain would be gone. At least if she died, she wouldn't have to face the next day of pain and misery and fear and lies and questions._

 _But then she'd never see Jonathan._

 _She wasn't sure, but Clary thought it had been several weeks since she'd seen her brother and father. It had surely been weeks since her mother had stolen her in the night. Since the torture had begun. Surely it had been weeks._

 _At first, everything was fine. Mother said it was a trip, and not to worry. Of course the Portal was opened by a warlock, and of course father knew where they were. No, Jonathan is on a trip with father. We'll be going home soon too. And then Clary was told it was all a lie. They were moving from place to place so rapidly that she couldn't even tell where they were anymore. They'd left Idris for Spain, then London…Clary knew that they'd returned to Idris briefly, walked through the dark streets of Alicante until they found Luke. And then Luke had taken Clary back to London, to France, and then she'd lost track of where they were._

 _She was pretty sure they were in America now, somewhere humid and dirty and wet in a way it didn't get in Europe. It was awful here. Everyone in the streets had had strange accents she didn't recognize, and then she'd fallen asleep in a car and awoken here in this room. It had been more than a week since then, she knew. This, at least, she could count. Every morning when it was still dark, Luke had woken her up and taken her outside into a field just outside the house to train her. There were no other houses or building in sight, and no telephone poles and wires like the other places they'd been. It wasn't Idris, that much she knew._

 _He would train her for hours every day, into the heat of the afternoon. Rigorous training, miles of running. When it took her more than two tries to do something correctly, the third was met with Luke's harsh voice yelling at her, calling her worthless, saying she wasn't worth of being a shadowhunter, that he should kill her now so she couldn't disappoint her mother. If the third attempt was not successful, or simply not the way he wanted it to be, he would beat her until she bled and cried and screamed and begged him to stop. When the heat of the day began to die down, he dragged her back into the house and schooled her on shadowhunter history and runes from the grey book and angel names and weapon names. He would throw her back into her basement room with a notebook and have her write down everything he taught her that day from memory. Food would be thrown in after an hour. And an hour later, he would come down to the room and look over everything she wrote down. If any of it was wrong or if anything was missing, he would rip the paper and tell her to do it over. Only once she'd written down everything from the lesson was she allowed to sleep. More often than not, Luke was back in the room in the middle of the night, beating her until it hurt to sleep._ Iratzes _were not given._

 _But things were different yesterday. Training was the same, but the lesson was different. Clary was taken straight down to the basement room and given all of the papers she'd written notes on, along with a printed paper of new things. She was told to write everything down again in college format—a second printed paper showed her how—and to have it done before she was allowed to eat. When she finished, she was given food that she couldn't taste. Luke then sat her at the dining room table and began to quiz her on everything he'd taught. As he did, he drew_ Iratze _after_ Iratze _on her skin until every single cut and bruise was gone. Then he took her back to the basement room without touching her._

 _Now, Clary sat up on the mattress with the papers she'd copied from, going over the material again and again. She was pretty sure it was morning now, though she couldn't see outside and didn't have a watch. She wasn't tired though. For the first time since arriving in this house, Luke had brought breakfast, and she hadn't been taken outside to train._

 _The door opened suddenly. "Get up," Luke said. "Come on."_

 _Careful not to get too close to him, Clary followed the man out of the room and up the stairs to the main part of the house. He led her to a door, which when opened revealed a bathroom. "take a shower," he said. "Make it fast. There's new clothes on the counter." He slammed the door shut behind her, making her wince._

 _After turning on the water as hot as it would go, Clary took off her clothes and examined herself in the mirror. She was dirty and gross, her hair slightly matted and brown. Her body wasn't scarred from the beatings, but there was more than enough dried blood to make her wince._

 _The hot water felt like heaven on her skin, and she stood under the stream and watched the dirty water swirl down the drain. Her hair took longer to clean than it ever had, and the shampoo she used barely lathered. More dirt and blood swirled down the drain as she washed herself. The conditioner made it possible to comb out the knots with her fingers. She stood in the hot water longer than she needed to, simply because the shower made her feel more alive than she had in weeks. She only got out when Luke banged on the bathroom door and yelled at her to finish up._

 _The water turned off, and Clary stepped out and towel dried. The clothes Luke had provided were definitely hers from back home, but they were tight now in weird places. The training had given her more muscle, but the lack of food had thinned her in other areas. As a result, the clothes hung oddly from her hips, but were tight around her upped arms and thighs. The bra cups were too big and the underwear hems were tight, constricting her thighs and hips. Thankfully, there was a hairbrush and blow dryer, so her hair looked normal._

 _She felt alive for the first time since Luke had taken her._

 _Clary took a deep breath before opening the bathroom door. Luke was standing just outside with a frustrated look on his face._

 _"They don't fit?" He asked, looking her up and down._

 _"They're fine," she said quietly._

 _"Good enough, I guess," he said, pushing himself away from the wall and heading for the living room. "C'mon."_

 _She followed him._

 _"Sit down and watch some TV or something," he said._

 _Clary sat, but didn't touch the TV. She knew how to use one, of course, but hadn't spent much time watching at all. They didn't have television in Alicante. Instead, she tentatively asked, "can I have a pencil?"_

 _He looked at her, stumped for a moment, before rolling his eyes and heading for the kitchen. "Right, you're an 'artist'." He came back a moment later with a mostly dull pencil with stars on the sides and a spiral notebook._

 _They weren't ideal for drawing, but they were good enough. Before she moved to get comfortable, she looked down, unable to meet Luke's eyes. "What's all this for?"_

 _"Your mother is coming. If you say anything," he threatened. "I'll kill you."_

 _She could barely nod her understanding. Sitting cross-legged on the couch, Clary propped the notebook on her thigh and began to draw. She wanted to make something happy—only a little difficult with a single pencil, but she was determined. Telling herself not to think, only to act, she drew. Lines, curves—erase. Lines, curves, shade. Shade, curve, shade. The picture began to form under the rounded tip of the utensil, and for the first time in weeks, Clary began to smile._

 _She'd always been an artist, just like her mother. Growing up, they would sit in the garden together and draw or paint._

 _That felt like forever ago._

 _Back then, she loved her mother. Now? She wasn't so sure if she could._


	28. Chapter 28

Angel blood does extraordinary things to a human body. For a mundane, angel blood turns them into shadowhunters—they move faster, heal faster, become stronger faster, they gain the ability to use angelic symbols to harness the power to defeat demons. The angel blood carries through their line, becomes a part of their genetics, and allows them to create more and more shadowhunters. But what happens when someone with angel blood receives more? What happens when the amount angel blood begins to outweigh the amount of human blood?

That is what Jocelyn Morganstern wanted to find out.

The Clave would have never allowed such experiments, oh no. And who would volunteer for such a thing? What shadowhunter would allow themselves to be a test subject when they were meant to be in the world fighting the evil that plagued them?

That is why Jocelyn Moganstern chose her children. The perfect subjects. Their shadowhunter line was as pure as her intentions—at least in the beginning.

Jonathan's reaction to angel blood was to love more deeply than anyone without it. His love for his sister grew to points that Jocelyn couldn't have imagined. Parabatai siblings? With excessive amount of angel blood? They would be the most powerful shadowhunters to ever live.

But Clary didn't take as well to the angelic presence inside her. She began to have nightmares, black outs, and what Jocelyn believed were visions in broad daylight. She feared that if they were left to continue, Jocelyn's actions would be found out. She'd be imprisoned by the Clave—or killed. Her husband was beginning to worry about their daughter, and Jocelyn was considering letting him in on her plans.

Everything changed when Jocelyn began to fall in love with another man. Lucian Greymark, Luke, her husband's best friend. She fell so deeply in love with him that she couldn't resist telling him about her experiments. She was shocked when he asked to join. Of course, he didn't want to be experimented on, but he wanted to watch, to help her through the trials and errors.

When it became clear that she was close to being found out, Jocelyn told Luke that she was leaving and taking Clary, the weak link in her plans. After a few weeks, she and her daughter returned to Idris to bring Luke with them.

She had no idea what a mistake that was.

Luke offered to take Clary to a safe house, and Jocelyn agreed—she was on the run now, having been deemed a kidnapper, a runaway, and a treasonous thief. Of course, she was all of those things. She'd run away and stolen her daughter, as well as the Mortal Cup. But for the good of all! They, however, were too blind to see it that way.

So Jocelyn left her boyfriend to take care of her daughter, while she went into hiding in London. She had no idea that Luke was so harsh, that he could hate Clary so much. He was cruel to her. Jocelyn knew the moment she saw Clary in the living room of the American safe house that she had been beaten and abused. How stupid did Luke think she was?

She exiled him from her plans. In his rage, he started a fight with a pack of local werewolves that almost got himself killed. Instead, he was turned. Jocelyn then exiled him from her life.

For the next five months, her plans and experiments became more and more successful. A naïve warlock aided her in creating memory spells that would make people forget small amounts of time, and she used them on her subjects. She wanted to learn just how much angel blood was needed to turn a mundane into a shadowhunter.

That was when she thought of a secondary plan. The academy was open and the Clave was actively searching for new people to recruit. If a mundane showed the right skill or ability, they were a prime candidate for ascension. A mundane with a small amount of angel blood would almost always exibit such traits. They would ascend without flaw. They would be more powerful—and they wouldn't remember that she was to thank. She didn't want to be thanked.

She helped Clary continue her training, her history, her runes, but in a less barbaric manner than Luke had. But Clary refused to take part in the research and testing. Knowing that she would one day be gone, Jocelyn forced Clary to watch her work, to listen to her findings, and decided that Clary's memory would need to be erased in order for the study to continue without flaw.

Knowing she was still wanted by the Clave, and that her husband wouldn't stop until he had them back, Jocelyn enlisted the help of a new warlock that was in good standings with the Clave. She would keep the secret if she believed Valentine was dangerous. She would spread rumors to pause the search. None of them were true, and Valentine would not be harmed or locked up, which meant that Jonathan would be alright—how far would her son go to find his sister? That was his test is her angel blood study. Would the blood eventually change and have his love aim toward another? Tessa Grey assisted with the memory spell that would change Clary's entire life so that she could see the effects of her mothers work and not know what it meant.

That was the real reason they moved. Jocelyn's test subjects were all across the United States, and they spent just long enough to collect data before moving on.

Simon was the final addition.

Jocelyn knew that Clary would need to continue her life one day, and that that life might be that of a mundane. But her line needed to go on and become stronger. So she chose Simon. It only took a few minutes to inject him with the amount of angel blood he would need—not enough to turn him, but enough to strengthen the line with he and Clary were older.

The best part was that Jocelyn was able to speak of it all to Clary without consequence. The instant she heard it, she forgot it. And when the time came, Jocelyn could retrieve the counter-spell from Tessa so that Clary would remember everything. She would understand that it was all for the greater good when she was older. As a child, she couldn't.

As a child, the angel blood would drive her mad without that spell.

Even as the girl got older, Jocelyn realized that the spell wasn't enough. Visons came as dreams and nightmares and drawings, none of which Clary could later remember because of the spell. But they happened. And all Clary remembered was not sleeping well. Jocelyn almost had a panic attack when Clary told her her idea for her graphic novel. It was all about shadowhunters—though she called them Light Bringers—and there were even detailed drawings of real demons. Was the spell wearing off? It couldn't be!

And then Luke came back into the picture, saying he'd changed. He was in a pack, and wanted to become pure again. What would angel blood do to a downworlder who had once been a shadowhunter? Jocelyn couldn't say no. Besides, it worked out to her own plans either way—it was time to check up on Simon. For this, Clary was excited. Jocelyn told her daughter that Luke was simply a friend that she was considering getting involved with.

The first night, Luke called to say he was suddenly not interested in the experiments anymore. The second night, Jocelyn was out all night trying to convince him to return to them with her.

It turned out that Luke was suddenly fearful of the Clave. He anonymously reported that Jocelyn was in New York, which was how the Clave found her, having sent scouts from the New York Institute.

Refusing to go down without a fight, Jocelyn hid all of her research using a special technique that she'd learned from Clary as a result of extra angel blood, hit the Cup, and took the sleeping spell she'd gotten from Tessa as a last resort before being caught. Everything was hidden, as good as gone.

However, Jocelyn, even in her dark coma, knew that it was only a matter of time before Clary would find her memory and retrieve the answers.

It was only a matter of time before they consumed her.

That memory spell had been put there to save her from herself.

Jocelyn could only hope that her daughter didn't attempt to find an antidote.

And if she did, she would no doubt also have the antidote for the sleeping spell. If Clary regained her memories, Jocelyn knew she most likely wouldn't awaken her mother—at least not without a hoard of shadowhunter and Clave elites. That was why she'd created an escape plan, just in case. It was something she didn't bother hiding from Clary.

There was one person who would help her out of this mess no matter what. It was a small rune, one that could be used on mundanes, even if they didn't possess angel blood. Clary had created it under Jocelyn's command, just before the memory spell had been used. As soon as her chosen person learned that Jocelyn was awake, they would stop at nothing to keep her safe from the Clave.

That was Clary's personal skill, the one the angel blood had given her: the ability to create new runes. They were extremely powerful, and wouldn't be found in the Grey book. Clary had been gifted with the ability to understand and read the language of angels, and could therefore create symbols of it's words in the form of runes. Jocelyn had used several, including the persuasion rune to help her escape the Clave if anyone awoke her.

It was a foolproof plan only because Jocelyn knew that the Clave wouldn't keep her in her sleep after everything she'd done. They'd want her on trial with the Mortal Sword before the Council, and sentenced. They'd want to strip her of her marks and exile her, or sentence her to death without honor.

Would Clary pull the trigger or let her sleep? Well, if she enlisted the help of anyone with loyalty to the Clave, it wouldn't matter. The Clave would force it's hand, do whatever it took to name Jocelyn Morganstern a traitor, set her on trial for High Treason against shadowhunters, and try for her death. Exile wasn't enough, and they would know it.

But Jocelyn knew that her plan was foolproof. Clary couldn't undo her work, and she would never lie to her best friend about what her mother had done.

Because of that, Jocelyn reveled in her dark sleep, knowing she would soon be awake and free.


	29. Chapter 29

**_A/N: Now, as of December 2016, I have a computer and update almost daily. I discovered a FanFiction feature that did not exist when I originally began here when I was, like, 12, which allows me to see how much traffic my story. Before I continue on, I want everyone to know that I will NEVER be one of those writers who won't continue until I get a certain number of reviews. Yes, I would like more, simply to know what you want to read and what you like about it, but I will not force people to review in order to get more of that good stuff._**

 ** _Apparently, I have readers in India, Germany, Ireland, New Zealand, and Russia! That is so cool! Shout out to you guys! You're awesome! Please leave a comment or PM me saying what you think, and what country you're from (THIS GOES FOR MY AMERICAN AND UK FRIENDS TOO). I'd love to hear from you all!_**

 ** _I would have posted sooner in the day, but we got snow where I live, so I was running around and playing in it with my niece._**

 ** _I hope you all enjoy this story as much as I enjoy writing it—which is a crap ton._**

 ** _Enjoy!_**

 ** _Ps. I found the cover pic on Google, and I don't own it. All rights to the creator. Same goes for TMI, TID, and TDA! You rock too!_**

 _"My Clary," her mother said, standing only a few feet away. Dressed in jeans and a sweater, hair loose around her shoulders, Jocelyn looked the same as she always had. She was smiling kindly like she always had._

 _"Mom," Clary half-whispered, unsure of what to do. Without seeing herself, she knew she was also in jeans, wearing her favorite t-shirt and converse, hair down._

 _"I knew you would find me," she said, taking a step closer. "I didn't think it would take so long though."_

 _"What are you talking about?"_

 _"It's not important. Very few things are right now. What is important is that you have to listen to me. Do you understand?"_

 _She nodded hesitantly. "B-but mom…"_

 _Jocelyn looked confused for a moment before her expression became serious. "Clary, who are you?"_

 _"What?"_

 _"I asked who you are. Do you know the answer?"_

 _"I'm Clary Morganstern," she answered immediately. "You know that."_

 _"I do. And what does it mean to be Clary Morganstern? Who are you?"_

 _She lifted her chin slightly. "It means I'm a shadowhunter."_

 _Jocelyn smiled. "Exactly. You are a shadowhunter. But Clary, you must remember what that means. You have to know what it means to be a shadowhunter. It's not just about killing demons and using runes."_

 _"It's about saving people," she said._

 _"Yes. Mundanes, specifically. Clary, there is one thing about being a shadowhunter that you are going to learn very soon, and I need to prepare you for that. There is something that you are going to have to do, a choice you will have to make. You have to make the right choice. If you don't, there are a lot of people who will die. Do you understand?"_

 _"What do I have to do?"_

 _"You have to lie to one of the people you love. You have to tell everyone to lie to them. To tell a lie is a bad thing, but if you do not, so many people—mundanes and shadowhunters alike—will be killed. Do you understand?"_

 _"What do I have to lie about?" She asked, confused by the fact that she wasn't confused by what her mother was saying._

 _"You can't tell him," she said. "You have to hide the truth, no matter what." She stepped forward and took Clary by the shoulders, looking intensely into her eyes. "You can't let him know that the spell works."_

 _"The memory spell?" Clary asked, her voice quivering slightly._

 _"No, the awakening spell. You must use it once you have the upper hand, but you can't let him know that it has worked. You must tell him that—that I continue to sleep. Think of a reason and convince everyone to lie to him. You must!"_

 _Clary nodded. "I understand, mom, but who am I lying to?"_

 _"Simon."_

Jonathan sat on a hard, straight-backed chair beside the cot in the infirmary. Clary was lying almost completely still on the bed, seeming to breathe only enough that Jonathan didn't panic. The Institute was quiet, everyone waiting in anticipation for news. Valentine was in the library with Isabelle and Maryse reading about memory recovery spells. Alec and Jace were across town collection ingredients for Magnus Bane, who was on his way. Jonathan had decided not to tell Simon just yet. He thought it was best to wait until they knew something.

Only moments after drinking the spell she was given, Clary had screamed and fallen to the floor. She hit her head on the table, but Jonathan didn't think she even knew it had happened. Her eyes were open, but devoid of anything but pain. They twitched from side to side, like she was looking for something but couldn't find it. Jonathan called for help between his please for Clary to say something, anything. She stopped screaming and stilled. On her hands and knees on the floor, she stared, unseeing at the floor between her hands.

Then she started bleeding.

Blood began to fall from her eyes like tears, from her ears, nose, and mouth—small trickles of blood that hit the wood floor loudly. Where she'd hit her temple, she began bleeding.

Jonathan screamed for help, screamed Clary's name. She didn't respond, eyes and mouth open like she was screaming too, silently.

Suddenly, she squeezed her eyes shut, her body shuddered, and she passed out.

That was when Valentine ran in with Maryse and Jace, Alec on their heels.

"What happened?" Valentine demanded, running over and gasping in shock as he dropped to his knees and pulled Clary's limp body into his lap.

"I-I don't know!" Jonathan had said, feeling helpless and desperate. "She took the memory spell and fell down. She started screaming and bleeding, and then she just passed out, just now. Father!"

"She's breathing," he said, sounding only slightly relieved.

"She's shaking," Maryse said.

They looked at Clary and noticed that her hands were shivering like she was freezing. Behind her eye lids, her eyes were moving from side to side.

"Maryse," Valentine said, lifting Clary into his arms as he stood up. "Call for help."

She nodded once. "I'll send for the Silent Brothers."

"Perhaps a warlock too?"

"Jace and Alec," she said, looking over at the two boys that lingered a few feet away. "Send a message to Magnus Bane. Tell him what happened."

"Yes, ma'am," Jace said. He touched Alec's shoulder and they left the library.

"Take her to the infirmary," Maryse told Valentine. "I'm going to send a fire message to Ragnor Fell about this. We should see if this is a sort of common side-effect." She shook her head and held the door open. "I don't know much about memory spells, honestly, but I've heard they aren't easy to endure."

Half an hour later, Brother Zachariah had arrived and conceded that he wasn't sure what was wrong with Clary. She'd stopped shaking and bleeding, but hadn't moved or responded in any way to words or actions. A blood replenishment rune had been applied, and her skin hadn't even flinched. Her breathing was slightly more shallow than normal, as was her heart, but the Brother couldn't say much about her condition. She was stable and unconscious, but he believed it was the work of the spell.

Though Jonathan knew it would do no good, he silently wished there was a doctor present to give the comfort of blood tests.

 _Give her time,_ the Brother said. _Memory spells are no small deal, and can send the brain into shock. I believe that she will awaken when her mind has come to terms with the information it has been given. How long after taking the spell did she react?_

"About twenty seconds," Jonathan said.

 _Perhaps all of the memory returned at once. I can't imagine that any brain could take that much. I shall return when there is a change. Please send for me. Until then, I will study the scrolls for guidance._

"Thank you, Brother Zachariah," Valentine said. "I'll walk you out. Jonathan? Please stay with Clary. I'm going to help Maryse and Isabelle in the library."

Alec had sent a text to his mother about their errand, and Valentine had relayed the message to Jonathan. That had been almost an hour ago. Almost two hours since Clary had passed out, and there was no change.

Jonathan had taken a warm, wet cloth to wipe the blood from Clary's skin, and tapped a gauze to her forehead—aside from the blood replenishment rune, Brother Zachariah had suggested no runes until she woke up. Her body was in shock, after all. Who knew what even an _iratze_ would do? It could cancel out the memory spell, making it impossible to regain her past, and could possibly even erase all of her memories. They couldn't risk it.

Rather, _they_ couldn't risk it. The Institute, the Clave. Jonathan wasn't so sure. He'd confided in Clary that he would live a mundane life to keep her safe. This wasn't what he pictured keeping her safe from, but he knew it was one of the many unpredictable things that were in line for his sister. Yes, knowing the truth about the last four years and about their mother was important, but was it worth risking Clary for? Jonathan didn't think so. His mother could die in that coma for all he cared if it meant that Clary wasn't in danger. He could live with knowing that Clary didn't remember being a child with him—it didn't matter. They both knew the truth and that was the important thing. Why did the Clave have to come before that? Jonathan cared more about his sister than anything else.

 _Clary…please wake up…_


	30. Chapter 30

Clary opened her eyes to the late afternoon light shining in through the stained glass windows of the Institute. She'd never noticed the glass image of Raziel in the infirmary, but supposed it must have been the same angel visible from the garden.

Her head hurt.

What happened?

Sitting up slowly, Clary looked around and saw that she was alone in the big room. A chair had been pulled up beside the bed, but it was empty. Who had been sitting there?

It didn't matter.

She had to find Jonathan.

She had to find her brother.

Thousands of memories filled her mind and she smiled, strengthened.

She started running.

Clary ran out of the infirmary, bursting through the doors and into the empty hall. She turned left—maybe Jonathan was in the library. Nope, it was empty. Kitchen? Empty. Weapons room? Empty. Training room? Empty.

"Urg!" She growled, spinning around in the hall and running for the elevator. "The garden!" Jonathan loved the garden back home as much as she did, so it would make sense that he would be there. It wasn't like he had a bedroom here that she could check.

But the garden was empty too.

Beginning to feel defeated, Clary huffed and went back inside. She didn't want to check all the rooms, but she would if she had to. She'd have to go back to the infirmary anyway, across the Institute, because being outside made her realize she wasn't wearing shoes. Where were her things? Her phone wasn't in her pocket and she hadn't seen her purse…where was everyone? Had they not returned from Idris yet?

Wait…

Clary paused mid-run in the middle of the sanctuary.

How had she gotten to the Institute? Or the infirmary for that matter?

The last thing she remembered was dropping Simon off at his moms house, and then getting coffee with Jonathan.

But wait. How did she remember Jonathan? How did she remember growing up with him? And dad?

Had she taken the memory spell? She must have. But why didn't she remember it? It was late afternoon now, and the last thing she remembered had been mid-morning.

"Think, Clary," she whispered to herself. "I must have used the spell. We were going to do it in the library…" Clary decided to retrace her steps. They'd dropped off Simon to come to the Institute. She was meant to recover her lost time and then wait for the Institute head to return from Alicante. They'd decided to do the spell in the library.

But no one was in the library.

Still, Clary went inside to find it still empty. The big table where there were frequently meetings was empty aside from one edge covered in papers. They were notes, written in her fathers hand. Clary noticed a few words on the pages— _memory, ingredients, side effects, spell, warlock, powerful, risk_ —before moving on. On the far side of the library, visible between the few shelves, was a loveseat—oh, and her bag! Yes! Score!

Inside the purse, her phone was off, but everything was still inside. She was about to turn the phone on, when she noticed a spattering of dried blood on the hardwood floor in front of the couch. Her brow furrowed. That was weird.

Her eyes widened as it hit her. That was her blood. Slowly, she raised her hand to touch her fingers to her forehead. There was a gauze pad there. The table…

Of course!

She remembered now. Falling, hitting her head as the memories of her life forced apart the seams of her mind. Jonathan yelling, Clary unable to answer. The bleeding as her mind stretched to fit everything that was suddenly there. And then everything had gone black for a single moment. She'd begun reliving her memories then, and now assumed that she'd passed out from it—that must have been why she was in the infirmary. It had been too much and she'd passed out. It made sense.

Oh. It must have been a dream, then. That conversation with her mother about Simon…

 _Simon_.

She had to lie to Simon about her mother. She had to destroy that rune on him.

Demon activity had called everyone in the Institute to the other side of the city, leaving Jonathan to watch Clary by himself. Magnus Bane had come and looked at her, deeming her fine and not in need of his services—but let him know if that changed. Jonathan ignored the warlocks not-so-subtle flirtation with Alec Lightwood before they all left.

Jonathan followed his father out to the elevator.

"Are you going to be alright by yourself?" Valentine asked.

"Of course," Jonathan said. "Besides, I'm sure Clary will wake up soon."

"Send me a text when she does. I'll be back as soon as I can." He squeezed his son's shoulder, and smiled before getting in the elevator with everyone else.

Sighing, Jonathan headed back toward the infirmary. Just before he opened the door, he felt his urges come up. Bathroom and food were needed before heading back in. Clary would probably be out for a while longer, and if she did wake up, she knew her way around. Sitting there waiting wasn't going to help either of them.

Twenty minutes later, Jonathan opened the door to the infirmary, and almost dropped his phone on the ground when he saw that the beds were all empty.

"Clary?" He said. "Clary!"

The infirmary was empty.

"God damn it!" he growled.

Then he was running, searching for his sister. She wasn't in the bathroom, the kitchen, the library, or the training room. Where the hell was she?

He thought he heard the elevator and ran to it, only to find it sitting silently at the top. He started to walk away to keep looking, when he paused.

"The top?" He gazed at the elevator doors as they slid closed once more. "But it should be down…"

Huffing out a breath, he ran back the way he'd come, checking every single room. Someone had come up the elevator, and he was determined to find out who. Clary was missing, and he was going to find her too—how do you lose a person?! Especially an unconscious person?! Well, if she was missing, she probably wasn't unconscious, but still! How do you lose a person?!

Finally, at the end of the hall, panting only a little bit, he came to the infirmary.

"Full circle," he sighed. "Shit!"

He reached out to open the door, but the handle dipped down as he went to grab it. The door swung open and Clary almost ran right into him.

"Clary!"

"Jonathan!" She threw her arms around him. "Thank the angel!"

Jonathan held her tightly for a moment, then leaned back, holding her at arms length. "Clary, were you in there the whole time?"

She shook her head. "No. I was looking for you, and then I came back here because I realized I wasn't wearing shoes." She shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed.

He hugged her again. "I was looking for _you_! Don't ever scare me like that again!"

Clary squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm sorry."

His hold softened. "No, you've just been freaking me out all day. Just…don't do it anymore."

"You should know by now that I'm reckless."

"Well, stop."

"Why? You're here to protect me." She smiled and leaned back to look at him. "You've always protected me. My Jonathan." She reached up to touch his face. Memories gracefully flitted across her mind. Jonathan promising to be there, Jonathan promising to take care of her, always. "You promised."

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist. "You remember?"

She nodded. "I do"

"And?"

"And I'm gonna have to be reckless a little longer."

"What happened?"

"We should wait."

"No. Tell me what happened?"

Clary led Jonathan into the infirmary and sat down beside him on the nearest cot, where she proceeded to tell him everything. How their mother had taken her in the night and moved from place to place, then left her with Luke at the safehouse in Texas. Luke's abusive, cruel way of teaching and training. Jocelyn's experiments and how they led to a mysterious power. The rune Jocelyn had used on Simon. The lies, the secrets, the tricks. Every event that led to up to Jocelyn using the spell that put her under.

"So Simon can't know," Jonathan said. "Because mother…really did all that stuff."

"Yeah. And if he does what he's supposed to do, the Clave might kill him."

"So we have to lie to him."

"It's the only way. Once we can figure out a way to stop that rune from working, we can tell him the truth." She shook her head. "I don't want to lie to him, but…"

"So where's the Cup?" Jonathan asked quickly.

Clary sighed. "It's in a painting."

"Huh?"

"There's something else. Along with creating runes, I can use them to make real things into pictures. She made me do it with the Cup right before she took my memories away."

"One of your paintings?"

"Yup. One that I kept."

"Which means…"

"The Mortal Cup is back at the house." Clary grinned.


	31. Chapter 31

_Four years ago. Miami, FL: The safe house._

Clary sat at the easel with a 12x12 canvas in front of her, and an array of expensive paints—the kind she'd always wanted to use, but her mother wouldn't let her. Now, she most definitely did not want to use them, and her mother was forcing her to.

Jocelyn sat a few feet away at a small table with a notebook and pen. On the table in front of her was the Mortal Cup.

"You don't have a choice, dear," Jocelyn said without looking up from the notebook. "I'm sorry, but this is the way it has to be."

"You'll get caught," Clary said, unable to look at her mother. Her hand was shaking around the paint brush. On the canvas so far was a pencil outline of the Cup. "And I'll tell everyone where the Cup is."

"No, you won't. And even if you did, it won't matter. My plan is foolproof. And I'm sorry, darling, but even you can't get around it." She smiled over at her daughter. "You have my mind, and your fathers loyalty—which only means that even with the chance, you won't turn me in. I'm your blood. Now, start painting before I get upset."

Clary knew that her mother was probably right—she knew what her mother was planning, but was too loyal to turn her in. The Clave would probably kill her or strip her of her marks or something equally awful, and Clary couldn't handle that weight on her shoulders. She loved her mother, or thought she did. Loyalty to her family weighed more than loyalty to the Clave in this case. Clary knew that that made her a bad shadowhunter, but she didn't care. _I'm sorry, father_.

"It looks perfect," Jocelyn smiled, suddenly standing beside her.

She was right. The painting of the Mortal Cup was almost exact, and if it weren't for the circumstances, Clary would have been proud of her work. Instead, she glared at it. She hated that painting.

Jocelyn put her hand on her daughters shoulder and handed her the cup. "Now put it inside. Use the rune. Just like we practiced." She smiled just like she had whenever they'd put practice to use—Clary could see the same smile in her memory of learning archery for the first time, and was ready to show her father. _Just like we practiced, my dear_. Pull back. Aim. Fire.

"Good. Now paint over it."

Clary almost fell over in shock. "What? Why?"

"Well, so that no one knows, darling. We can't have people seeing the cup in your painting. That would take away from it all. Now paint over it with this." She handed her a bottle of white acrylic paint. With it, Clary knew that it would be as though the canvas had never been touched.

She did as she was told, and tried not to flinch when her mother walked too close. When she was done, she was given permission to paint whatever she liked.

So she did. Clary almost smiled as she painted the first thing she could think of.

Just as she was finishing, there was a knock on the door.

"That'll be Tessa," Jocelyn said. "Remember: not a word to her. Got it?"

Clary nodded silently, and was rewarded with a kiss on her forehead. She flinched, but her mother didn't noticed.

After nearly twenty minutes of them talking as Clary painted, Tessa instructed Clary to lay on the couch behind her. For a moment, Clary was so tempted to tell Tessa what was really happening. She must have seen the fear in her eyes, but Clary knew from her mother that Tessa believed the fear was for her father. As far as the warlock knew, the memory spell was to protect Clary from her father.

Clary closed her eyes and felt the magic pour over her.

Clary's head hurt as she and her mother stepped out of the apartment into the brightness. She wasn't a fan of Florida, but she liked being so close to the beach. Her mom hadn't really been a fan of the beach, but this was where the art sold. When Clary had woken up just a few minutes before, she'd seen a woman leaving. A woman with brown hair, very pretty, with a canvas painting of cats playing in grass that her mom had done. The art scene must have been pretty great to sell a piece before even unpacking. Was her mom finally using the internet as a marketing tool?

Clary absently wondered if she'd be able to sell her own paintings here. She knew she wasn't as good as her mom, but in her own opinion, if someone would buy a boring painting of puppies, why wouldn't they buy a pre-teens painting? She'd just about finished one and it was pretty good. She'd fallen asleep on the couch just before finishing, and awoke to that woman leaving, and her mom saying it was time to leave for school. The painting was all color and brightness, depicting a huge rose garden with a mermaid fountain off to the side. Picturesque, as her mom would say.

"Mom?"

"Yes?" Jocelyn smiled as they walked down the street toward Clary's new school. Well, newest.

"My head hurts."

"Oh! Here, I think I have some Tylenol in my purse…"

Her mom was always prepared that way. Aside from occasionally having Advil instead, which she took for herself. Clary was allergic, but her mom wasn't.

"Here you go, hun," she said, handing over a small bottle of Tylenol and a can of watermelon tea—it was Clary's favorite. She didn't know why, but watermelon seemed to be to only artificial flavor that tasted right. All the others lacked something—the flavor.

"Thanks, mom." She got a weird look upon hearing that, but Clary didn't pay attention, too busy stowing the good in her backpack. New home, new bag, as always. "I'll take it when we get there."

"Sounds good."

 _Present day. New York_.

"I painted it when I was twelve," Clary said, trying not to be defensive of her own work. "But I think it's pretty good, all things considered."

The painting of the rose garden with the mermaid fountain had become one of the many inspirations for her graphic novel. Rich girl with a rose garden that kills demons without her parents knowledge. Ironic. How had her mother not been concerned.

She pushed the posters and drawings out of the way and pulled the canvas from the wall.

"And you're sure it's still here?" Jonathan asked, sounding slightly nervous.

She nodded. "Yup. It's weird, I know, but I can…feel it." Grabbing the stele from her bag, Clary sat on her bed and drew a simple, delicate rune on her hand. Then, feeling Jonathans eyes on her, she touched the painting…

…and her hand went right into it. Her fingers wrapped around the stem of the Cup, and she slowly pulled it out.

"By the angel," Jonathan gasped, carefully reaching out to brush his fingers along it's surface. He could feel the magic in it. "It's real. It's the Mortal Cup. We found it. You did it."

She smiled. "Yeah. We never would have known," she said. "It was here the whole time, and we never knew it."

"Well, how could we?"

"We should put it back."

"What?"

"Jonathan," she sighed. "With all that's happened, don't you think it'd be better to play a little bit dumb for the Clave? We'll tell them everything and then bring the painting with us to show them that it's real? Any shadowhunter will know that this is the real cup just by looking at it. But will they really believe that it was in a painting for the last four years?"

"You make a good point. Do it."

Making another rune, the one from her memory, Clary placed the Cup back into the painting, watching the surface almost ripple.

"Now what?" She asked.

"Now, we wait for everyone back at the Institute, show them the Cup, and figure out what to do with Jocelyn."

For the first time, Clary heard the anger and almost hatred that Jonathan put into that name. She realized in the moment that there had been more and more of it in 'mother' over the last few weeks, and now, at last, it was simply 'Jocelyn', with all the hatred and anger that Jonathan was capable of. It was all for her.

She reached up and touched his face gentle. "It's in the past, Jonathan. Please, don't be angry. I'm not."

He held her hand, keeping it against his cheek, and closed his eyes. "I can't help it."

"Anger will do nothing. You know that. Anger and fear…they're useless unless there's a fight. We will not be fighting her. We've already won."

"I know." He smiled. "My sister is here. You remember me. You're safe. And that's all that matters."

She nodded, and dropped her hand, standing up. "Now, let's return this stupid cup." She giggled, and they left.

Jonathan was intent to keep it a secret from his sister, but the thought of seeing his mother in anyway, even behind bars or dead, made him so angry that he felt sick. How dare she… How dare she hurt his sister?

He was determined to keep it a secret from everyone. He wanted to make Jocelyn suffer for all the suffering she put Clary through—and not just with Luke and the fear, but also for the last couple of months. Clary had been through too much, and it was all Jocelyn's fault.

And Jonathan wanted to make her pay for it.


	32. Chapter 32

Clary didn't want to listen as everyone discussed her mothers fate. After she told them everything and handed over the Mortal Cup—and showing everyone where it was—they began to talk about Jocelyn and what to do with her, so Clary left the library. She didn't go far, only outside the doors where she sat against the wall, staring at her phone but seeing nothing. Though she'd only seen Simon that morning, it felt like years. Her memory was back, and it hadn't even been a day, but…Well, Simon was the one she wanted to tell about everything. The fact was that she wasn't even sure what she was allowed to tell him. She wondered if she should lie, or if she should tell him that information would be kept from him. Jocelyn had been so sure that she and Simon would end up together, which they did, and she was so certain that Clary would tell him everything. But Jocelyn clearly hadn't factored in that Clary would have the Clave behind her, and her brother also. Jocelyn hadn't thought about it, or she wouldn't have said anything to Clary.

If she lied and Simon found out, he would be pissed. It happened in every single move and book ever: lie, and it's over. But if he knew something and found out everything before the rune was removed, it could get really dangerous. Lie and risk it, or be selective and risk it?

The worst part was that it wasn't something that only Clary could decide. Ultimately, she knew, it was a matter that was to be decided by the Clave—partially because he was a mundane that was brought into the situation, and also because he was a trainee at the academy. They had the power. She had given her input, and that was all she could do.

"You okay?" Jonathan said, suddenly there, closing the door to the library where everyone was. He sat down beside her.

"Not really."

"You're worried about Simon, aren't you?"

"Of course. I want to do what's right, but I don't know what that is. If the Clave tells me to lie, and I do, and then Simon finds out, he'll probably get mad because it's like choosing the Clave over him. But what if we tell him he can't be in on it, and then he finds out and does exactly what Jocelyn wants?" She groaned loudly. "I don't even know what's worse."

"Lying," Jonathan said immediately. "Lying is definitely worse."

"You think so?"

"Yup. Because when you're lied to, everything that that person has ever said or done is put under the light. They start to doubt everything, and that's why lies tear relationships apart. But just knowing that everything is okay, knowing that you'll have answers eventually…it's better than that constant doubt."

"You're right." She nodded. "If you can lie about this, what else have you lied about."

"Exactly."

"So what are they saying about her?"

He sighed. "They're trying to decide what to do. Someone said that there should be a trial, but others are saying they should just decide on a sentence."

"A trial?"

"Yeah. The opposing argument is that she might get away during the time it takes to get through it." He shrugged. "Personally, I think they should have a trial, yes, but without her involvement. Everything she did, you can confirm. But with a trial, they'd have to use the Sword on you."

"That's okay. I won't lie."

"Yeah, but with everything that happened to you…I don't want you to relive it just to appease them."

"I don't either, but we can't just keep her asleep. What kind of sentences are they talking about?"

"The usual: either strip her of her marks and exile her, or kill her without the honor that shadowhunters are granted—funeral, pyre, and using the ashes to build up the Silent City."

"What do you think?"

"I don't think that being stripped of her marks will stop her from doing what she was doing."

"Me either."

"But I don't think that death is a great enough punishment for what she's done."

Clary didn't respond to that. She didn't want her brother to know that she felt the exact same way. "What would the trial do?"

"It would allow shadowhunters to assist the Clave in coming up with the best punishment for her crimes. Stealing a Mortal Instrument is treason, and experiments like the ones she did are also treason. Even in the mundane world she would be most likely given the death sentence. Mundanes don't have exile as an option—it's really just a show of dishonor for us. Really, the ones who get are those who marry Downworlders, or commit a crime for the sake of being left to a mundane life. Jocelyn has done a lot worse than that."

"Do you really want her death though?" Clary asked, not to make him feel bad, but to know if they were really on the same page about it.

"I want her to pay for what she did to our family, and our people."

Clary agreed. The problem was that she hated that she did. Aside from that nine month span, every memory she had of her mother was good. But those nine months? They were enough to wish suffering for. They were worse than an entire life of bad memories, simply because her mother had spent twelve years gaining her love and trust, only to throw it away and burn it, then make fake trust.

Honestly? Clary didn't think death was enough. She wanted her mother to suffer the same way that she had. Clary wasn't a violent or mean person, but the hatred she felt for Jocelyn was like a fire that would never go out.

Not until Jocelyn was gone.

And then there was the issue of Luke. Lucian Greymark was not unknown to the Clave. Apparently, he'd been causing trouble for them for the past four years, up until he'd disappeared the day Valentine and Jonathan came to New York—the day before Jocelyn had used to sleep spell on herself. He hadn't been seen or heard from since, and this was what made Clary nervous. Her mother would be dealt with, and her mother wouldn't be able to hurt her—she never had, only broken the love and trust of their familial bond. But Luke? It was because of Clary that her mother dropped him like a hot pan. Was anyone else considering what that meant? Clary was now vulnerable if Luke decided to come for her. He could have come at any time during the last few months, but he hadn't. Perhaps he wouldn't at all, but perhaps he was waiting. He was, after all, a werewolf now, with no official ties to the Clave, but it didn't matter. The Clave could kill him because of his involvement with Jocelyn, and they likely wouldn't hesitate to do so once he was found. There wouldn't be a trial for a treasonous downworlder, even one who had once been a shadowhunter—it only meant that he should have known better.

The door to the library opened and Valentine stepped out, looking upset but trying to hide it.

"There you are," he said, smiling down at his children. "Are you two ready to go home?"

They both nodded and stood up.

Before anything more could be said, Valentine stepped forward and pulled Clary into a firm and loving hug.

"Dad?"

"I'm so sorry," he said, sounding like he was trying not to cry. "I couldn't protect you from her. I'm so sorry, Clary."

She tightened her hold on him. "You couldn't have known, dad."

"I should have though. I should have seen it."

"You couldn't have, dad. You know that."

"I'm so sorry, Clary. My Clarissa."

"Please don't."

"I promise, Clarissa. I will never let anyone hurt you, never again. I promise."

"I love you, dad." It came out quieter than a whisper, but she knew he heard it. She felt him shudder and wipe his eyes behind her.

"I love you too, my Clary."

 _Two days later_ …

It was decided. Jocelyn was to be awakened in three days time. Until then, a short trial was to be held, in which Clary was to be questioned under the Sword—as were Jonathan and Valentine, to assure they played no part. After the Council heard it all, they were going to hold a vote as to the exact sentence. Then, Jocelyn would be awakened for it. The only part that was argued was that Clary would be the one to awaken her.

Upon further research and thought due to the incident with Clary's memory spell, Ragnor Fell had determined that Jocelyn needed to be awaken by someone she was related to—which immediately narrowed it down to Clary and Jonathan. But in order for it to work, the spell had to be delivered by a blood relation who had been with her on the day she'd taken the spell. Since Jonathan had arrived shortly after the spell was used, Clary was the only one who could wake their mother.

"Absolutely not," Valentine protested, standing up so fast he almost knocked over his chair. "After what she did to Clary? No. She's too dangerous."

"It would be inhumane to sentence her in her current state," said the Consul from his projection in the center of the meeting.

"What she did was inhumane!"

"Sir, this is your wife you're talking about," he said. "Do you not desire justice for her, at least?"

"The only justice I care about," Valentine said, slowly and dark. "Is that which is paid for her sins. What she did to her own _children_!" He had to pause and take a deep breath. "She doesn't deserve the mercy of being awakened. And after what Clary has been through? She doesn't deserve the torment of awakening Jocelyn."

"Valentine," Maryse spoke up, softly as she touched his shoulder. "I understand how you feel—I cannot imagine what you must be going through with your children and where it concerns your wife. But should we not set the example of leadership and justice for them?"

He looked at Clary. "Clary?"

"I just want her gone," she whispered, unable to look her father in the eye. "I don't care what it takes. I can make peace with it if I know that I'll never have to see her face again."

"Then it's settled," said the Consul grimly. "Maryse? Please make the arrangements to have Jocelyn brought to Idris. I trust we all agree that a mundane hospital is not the correct place to undergo it all?"

So Maryse created fake documents, and shadowhunters played fake doctors and medical transporters, and took Jocelyn from Beth Israel to Alicante.

"And, of course," the Consul said. "There's the matter of the trainee. Simon Lewis has not yet ascended, but as a student of the academy, he is one of ours. The rune he was given. What would it do exactly?"

Clary cleared her throat. "It would force him to do whatever it takes to defend Jocelyn in the event that he learned of it all. The power of it would allow him to do things that he wouldn't normally be capable of—mostly in terms of muscle strength. He wouldn't be able to fight it, and might now even be aware of him actions under it's duress. If he learns that she's in danger by the Clave, the rune ensure's that he'll stop at nothing to keep her safe from it."

"And can you stop it?"

"I might be able to counter it," she said. "But once what's done is done, the rune will be completely harmless. The fact that Jocelyn is alive is what's keeping the rune active. Once she isn't, it'll be useless and most likely fade away."

"If it hasn't already," he said.

"It hasn't."

"So you suggested last time that we explain the situation to the boy to keep his trust in the Clave, and inform him of the details when there is no longer a threat. Do you still feel that way?"

She nodded. "I don't want to lie to him."

"Very well. I'll leave that to you. No one else should so much as speak Jocelyns name until her sentence has been carried out. Agreed?"

"Agreed." Everyone chimed quietly.

"Permission to bring up an amendment?" Jonathan said suddenly.

"Go ahead, young man," the Consul nodded.

"I think it would be smart to keep Simon from Idris until everything is done. At the academy, everyone will talk, and the rune might activate."

"And what of his training?"

"If we agree on it, I volunteer to deliver adequate training myself. I'm teaching Clary, and I've worked with Simon in the past as well."

"I do believe it would be wise to be on the safe side with this," the Consul nodded slowly. "All in favor?"

And so it was. Until Jocelyn's sentence was carried out, Simon would be living with the Morgenstern's in New York to continue his training.

Now, Clary was at the house preparing for just that. Valentine was still at the Institute, and Jonathan was upstairs learning Icelandic. Clary was in the kitchen doing dishes—after having done all the laundry, swept the entire house, vacuumed all the rugs, and dusted every other surface of the house.

Simon would be here soon, being dropped off by his sister. As far as she knew, Simon had told their mom a later flight time so he could say goodbye to his girlfriend. Rebecca thought it was cute, and promised to keep his secret.

Clary didn't really like cleaning, but she did like to be busy when she was nervous.

The drawing had stopped. The nightmare had stopped. The visions in dreams had stopped. She was sleeping peacefully with hardly any dreams at all, and her sleep was deep and restful—which was good because the recent past had taught her that bad sleep and nightmares led to crawling in bed with her boyfriend and giving her brother the wrong idea when he accidentally walked in on them. Not the best idea.

She was excited to see Simon again, though it had only been a couple of days. She was not, however, looking forward to telling him about her memories or about not being able to tell him stuff. And of course, trying to break the rune on him that he probably didn't even know was there—but that was because it was in a place he'd never look.

The rune was very small, and hidden by his hair, right where his hairline met his neck. Invisible to mundanes, and was hidden well enough that even a shadowhunter wouldn't notice it.

The angel blood would be the scary one to explain. It meant that Simon's mind had been tampered with too, and Clary didn't like that idea—even if it was only a ten minute portion of his entire live, and not the almost thirteen years from Clary's. Still, she was afraid of what he'd think of it all. It wasn't Clary's fault that it had happened, but it was Clary who had gotten him involved in it all again.

She was afraid that it would cause him to resent her.

Terrified that he would reject her for bringing him into this world of danger and darkness.

Or worse, if he didn't now, but let it eat away at him until he couldn't handle it any longer.

Clary was so trapped by those thoughts in that moment, that she didn't even hear the doorbell until Jonathan ran down the stairs. "Clary? What the hell?"

"Sorry!" She said, jumping. She grabbed the towel beside her and dried her hands. "I was a million miles away."

"Clearly," he smirked, leaning forward to open the front door. "Look who's back," he grinned, stepping aside to let Simon in.


	33. Chapter 33

Clary didn't want this moment to end. She was sitting in the kitchen at the island with Simon and her family, her father telling stories of when she and Jonathan were children—at Simons request. It was apparently a moment that the man had been waiting for since his daughter was born, and he left nothing out. As a result, they were all laughing and making jokes. It was perfect.

But it was getting late, which meant Valentine would soon retire to bed, and Jonathan would do that thing that reminded Clary that she couldn't put off telling Simon. The not-so-sly 'I'll leave you two alone' thing that guys always seemed to do.

And when the time came, her father sighed and went to bed, and Jonathan gave her the look.

She smiled and nodded.

"I'm gonna get to bed too," he said. "I wanna get up early and go for a hike. You guys in?"

"You wanna go?" Simon asked her.

She shrugged. "Maybe. I'll decide in the morning."

Jonathan shrugged and headed upstairs. "Have fun, you two."

Clary took Simons hands. "Let's go outside."

They didn't bother putting their coats on. It was dark and cool outside in the back yard. Still holding hands, they sat on the bench by the fence that had so far gone unused during their stay. From what Clary could tell, the bench wasn't used much by the Starkfords either—the thing looked brand new and completely unused, like it was only there for show. Still, it was comfortable, and perfect for the two of them.

"What happened?" Simon asked.

She blinked at him. "What?"

"The only time anyone has ever pulled me from a house is after something bad has happened. So what it is?"

"I can't tell you," she said.

"Why not?"

"Well, I mean, I can tell you some of it, but not all."

"What's going on? You're acting strange, Clary…"

"I want to tell you," she said. It wasn't really true because she didn't really want to tell anyone what had happened, but of all the people, she felt the most okay telling Simon. "But before I can tell you everything…"

"Just say it, Clary," he smirked. "Whatever it is."

"My mom did something to you. When we met in LA she did something. She's the one who gave you angel blood—that's why you got into the academy. And there's something else. Jocelyn gave you a rune—you don't remember any of it because she messed with a little bit of your memory, only about ten minutes are gone from when we were thirteen. But she gave you a rune that I made, and if you hear something about her being in trouble with the Clave, you won't be able to control yourself, and you'll do whatever it takes to keep her from them."

"That's one of the craziest things you've ever said to me," he said. "But why are you telling me that?"

"Because the only other option would be to lie to you. The Clave basically left this up to me. I'm going to do everything I can to remove the rune, but until then I can't tell you about what's happening to her."

He shook his head. "Clary...are you sure it was okay to tell me that?"

"As far as you're concerned right now, she's fine, still in a coma, and in no danger. The Clave can't wake her."

"I don't like not knowing, but I guess it's better than being lied to."

"I thought so too. Just…don't dig around for answers. Once the rune is no longer active, I will tell you everything, okay?"

"Okay. So. Tell me what you can now. I can tell you're just itching to rant."

That wasn't true. She could rant all she wanted and it wouldn't make a difference. What she was itching to do was cry about it. She wanted to cry, so desperately, but not alone. And she didn't want Jonathan or her father to see it. They were worried and pained enough by what had happened, and crying would only make it worse.

So she opened up to Simon, and let herself cry. He wrapped his arms around her and listened, silent and comforting as she let it all out. He held her until her words faded away and she was silent, letting the tears fall down her face without a sound. And he kept holding her, silent, until the tears stopped.

"Can I sleep with you?" She whispered. "Please?"

"Not like last time."

"No. Just sleep."

"Okay."

But they didn't make it up the stairs. Clary pulled Simon onto the couch in the living room when they got inside, and cuddled up to him. She turned the TV on, and let the mindless sound of the infomercial channel lull them to sleep.

"Please state your name for the Council."

"Clarissa Morgenstern."

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen."

"Where were you born?"

"Alicante."

"What is your mothers name."

"Jocelyn Morgenstern."

"Please describe the events that took place when your mother stole you from your home, and onword."

Clary took a deep breath. "Jocelyn Morgenstern took me to several European countries to hide from the Clave. After several weeks of going from place to place to assure she wasn't followed, she asked Lucian Greymark to take me somewhere safe and continue my training. They called it a 'safe house', and it was located somewhere in Texas. While I was in his charge, he beat me, yelled at me, cursed at me, and starved me during my training and lessons—for a long time. Weeks and weeks, but I don't know how long. When Jocelyn found out, she rejected his assistance in everything she was doing. She took me to Miami and taught me how to make runes and use them. She taught me how to hide things inside paper. She told me to hide the Mortal Cup in a painting. Then, she told lies to a warlock named Tessa so that she would conceal my memories of the shadow world. Tessa also gave Jocelyn a spell that would put her into a sleep. For four years, Jocelyn experimented on mundanes and downworlders with angel blood. She used it on Simon Lewis, as well as a rune that can make him act at a certain time with a certain trigger. With the assistance of another warlock, she cleared their memories. She told me everything about it because the memory spell on me caused me to immediately forget anything and everything concerning the shadow world. When we moved to New York, she took the sleeping spell she was given, and has been in a coma since then. Jonathan and my dad found me in New York and I have since been trying to regain the memory and have justice brought. I was able to get the memories back, and returned the Mortal Cup to the Clave. Now I'm assisting the Clave in sentencing my mother to punish her for her crimes."

"What did you do when you recovered your memories?" The Inquisitor asked.

"I was at the Institute, and I went home to retrieve the Cup."

"Are you willing to answer questions regarding your mothers sentencing."

"Yes."

"Jocelyn Morgenstern is being charged with High Treason against the Clave for the crime of stealing a Mortal Instrument. Do you believe she is guilty?"

"No. But I know she committed this crime."

"Jocelyn Morgenstern is being charged with Treason against the Accords for the crime of illegally and immortally experimenting on Downworlders and Shadowhunters alike. Do you believe she had committed this crime?"

"Yes."

"Jocelyn Morgenstern is being charged with the kidnapping of her daughter, Clarissa Morgenstern, from the custody of Valentine Morgenstern. She is being charged with Treason against the Clave for the kidnapping of Clarissa Morgenstern from Valentine as well as the Clave. Do you believe she had committed this crime."

"Yes."

"Please state that you believe she has done so."

"I know that Jocelyn Morgenstern committed multiple counts of Treason against the Clave."

"Thank you, Clarissa. You may step down."

The Silent Brother stepped forward to take the Sword from her, and her knees almost gave out in relief. She hadn't realized it, but she was weak, sweating, and feeling like she was about to pass out—or throw up.

And then Jonathan was there, holding her up and helping her walk. "Let's get you some air."

"Okay," she breathed.

Behind her, she could hear the Inquisitor calling up her father for the time he'd spent searching. Next would be Tessa. And then it would be over, and a decision would be make.

"Can we go home?"

"I've already asked Magnus to assist us with a Portal."

"Thank you."

"Are you okay?"

"I'll be okay when I know what's gonna happen."

"Me too."


	34. Chapter 34

_Clary stood in what looked to be the ruins of Alicante, yet it couldn't have been. The crumbled walls were stained with pictures and hieroglyphs, where Alicante had always been clean. And yet, there were the remains of the demon towers, broken and crumbled, their surfaces dull. The place was in shambles, with small plumes of smoke rising from the ground as though smoldering. It looked like there had been a war. It was Alicante, but it wasn't._

 _But there was the Gard and Angel Square, the canals with the tiniest trickle of water puddling and half-evaporated. The buildings are crumbling, their corners missing, windows knocked out and doors hanging from single hinges, or just laying on the ground._

 _Immediately, Clary knew that she was dreaming._

 _"Right you are, Clarissa," a mans voice said from behind her. "This is a dream. For you to know that so quickly is extraordinary."_

 _Clary spun around on her heel, and the crunching of rocks echoed through the ruins. Standing nearly twenty feet away from her was a man with curly blonde hair, watching her with an inhumanly serene look on his face. "Who are you?"_

 _"Do you not recognize me, Clarissa?"_

 _She shook her head._

 _He took a few steps closer, making no sound at all. "I'm the one who has been giving you vision to the future and the gift of the language of Angels."_

 _Images flashed across her eyes, and she stumbled half a step back. "You're an angel!"_

 _"I am Ithuriel," he said, bowing his head once. "You know me."_

 _"What happened here?" She asked. "Is this the future of Alicante?"_

 _"Perhaps," he allowed. "But no. This place is not of your world. This is a place that has been taken over by demons. The people of this world were unable to protect their home from them. As a result, the people were killed, and the world has died."_

 _"Were they shadowhunters?"_

 _"Yes. The difference between this place and yours is that in this world, they were not able to keep the demons at bay when there were few. This city was built as a haven for it's people, much like your Alicante, but it was taken down when the demons came to outnumber it's shadowhunters."_

 _"So it's not the future?"_

 _"Not yet."_

 _"What does that mean?"_

 _Ithuriel was suddenly right infront of her, close enough to touch, but she wasn't afraid of his speed. "It means that the future is not set. Your Alicante could become like this one, but it could come to be the greatest city to ever exist—even to outsize Pandemonium, the Great Demon City. Alicante could rise up and overtake. Your people could come to leave your world to fight demons in others. Or it could become like this world."_

 _"What's it called?"_

 _"What?"_

 _"This place. What's it called?"_

 _"Idumea."_

 _"Why did you bring me here?"_

 _"There are more forces than you know that are currently at work, Clarissa. I've brought you here in this dream so that you know what you are to fight for."_

 _"Alicante?"_

 _"No. You are fighting for your world. You are to fight to protect your world from becoming like this one."_

 _"Isn't that what all shadowhunters are fighting for? That's why we exist. To protect our world. Why not show this to everyone?"_

 _"Because knowing the course of time doesn't make the path the same for everyone. One might go on to face a demon threat, but another might flee and hide from it. Few have the ability to change the future, and even fewer know it."_

 _"I'm guessing you brought me here because I'm one of those people?"_

 _"Yes. You're also worthy of it."_

 _"Huh?"_

 _"The challenges you have been facing, most would have thought only of themselves. You have thought of the world. Jocelyn's actions affect everyone, and you are one of the few who see that to be true. You have done what few shadowhunters can claim by thinking of your own, as well as mundanes and downworlders. That is something that sets you apart from them. That, and the fact that you can keep your world from becoming like this one."_

 _"How?" She asked. "I'm just one person. Besides, I've done everything that I can! My mother is on trial for her crimes, and'll probably be sentenced to death." She took a deep breath. "I don't want her to die, but the world will be safer when she is."_

 _"Perhaps, but what if I told you that it might not be?"_

 _"With everything she's done and planned to do? How could it not be safer?"_

 _"Because she is an extremist. And extremes can go in either direction. Right now, she is heading down a path to this world. But she could be persuaded toward a new path—one that leads to your world becoming great enough to overtake the darkness that other worlds face and fear."_

 _Clary didn't want to get her hopes up, but there was a part of her, deep down, that wanted to believe that he was right. She wanted to believe that her mother could be good, and not have to die. "Go on."_

 _"True as it is, perhaps it is cliché that the only one who can put her on such a path is her own daughter. With the correct and careful actions, you can turn her to the light."_

 _"How?" There it was. Her hopes were sky high._

 _"They will come. Unfortunately, I do not have such answers at this time. Only one. You should know, however, that should she fail to take the correct path, there will be other. There will also be other times that your world can become great."_

 _"I won't let her fail!"_

 _"I do believe that your intentions and will are strong, but there are decisions that she will have to make on her own, and you will not be able to do more than suggest that she change. It will not be easy, Clarissa."_

 _"I don't care. I'll do whatever it takes. Just…please tell me how."_

 _"First, you must promise me that you will not tell anyone about this meeting." He held up a finger, pointing to the sky. "Unless. There is one person who may say my name, and it is in this only instance that you may speak of this, and only to that person."_

 _"Who?"_

 _"Jonathan Morgenstern. Your brother."_

 _"Jonathan?"_

 _"If he speaks my name to you unprovoked, you must tell him everything that I have told you. Should events transpire and he calls upon my name, he is one who will help you to sway your mother to the correct path of actions. Do you understand?"_

 _"Yes. Now tell me what I have to do!"_

 _"Jocelyn will be awakened in a short matter of days. You are to perform the spell you were given. You must look to your Inquisitor and ask to awake her without the audience, for you have something to say. He shall agree, and you must take Jonathan with you. The moment the door closes behind you, it will all be set for a time. Once those events have come to pass, I shall come to you once again and tell you more."_

 _"You don't know anything else?"_

 _"I'm afraid that every action only makes the nearest path visible, even to me."_

 _"I can't argue with that. I don't see the future at all."_

 _"This is not true. I have given you sights of what may come. It is because of such sights that you are where you are. The sight gave way to your wall and allowed you to see what magic kept from you."_

 _Before she could speak, the angel looked to the sky. "I must leave now. Do not forget what has happened here, Clarissa. Though there are many other paths and many other potential saviors to come, the fate of your world currently rests on you."_

Clary opened her eyes to the light of dawn on her ceiling, and sighed heavily. Her body was still and hot from not moving for so long, and her blanket was still securely as it was when she'd fallen asleep.

She'd spoken to an angel…

Now she had work to do.


	35. Chapter 35

**_A/N: Sorry for taking so long, but I couldn't figure out how I wanted this to go. Also, it's Christmas weekend, so I was with my family. Mine celebrates Christmas, and I brought my fiancé with me—her family is Jewish, and the first night of Hanukkah fell on Christmas Eve this year. I got to light the menorah! It's so fun to do new things on holidays, and having my fiancé with me was even better. Happy Holidays!_**

 _Jonathan_

Jonathan leaned against the jam in Clary's doorway, looking through the pitch darkness to see her chest rise and fall. She was sleeping peacefully for the first time in weeks, and he was glad. After waking up in the middle of the night, he'd sat on his bed trying to pick her breath out from the rest of the house. Failing, he'd gone to her room—his eyesight was better than his hearing.

He realized that it would have normally been creepy of him to watch his sister sleep, but it wasn't. Not really. She'd been plagued with nightmares, and her pain upset him. If she had a nightmare, he could wake her. Aside, he'd been having small nightmares of his own where Clary wasn't breathing. Watching her, making sure she was okay, was as much for his own benefit as hers.

So why hadn't he told her he was doing it?

That was actually the easiest question to answer. Because if he told her, he'd have to confess about his vision, hearing, and dreams. He felt enough like a freak knowing he had angel blood in his system, and didn't need the added speculation that it would bring on, just knowing that there were side effects of his mothers experimenting. Yet, he felt bad for hiding it. Clary surely felt that she was going through everything on her own, in her runes and drawing and memory—perhaps knowing that he had side effects too would make her feel less alone. For reasons Jonathan didn't understand, he absolutely did not want anyone know about it.

Partially because he didn't know anything about it.

He'd simply woken up one night from a nightmare and been able to see through the dark like a blue tinted daylights, and hear sounds that were far away. The hearing came and went, but the sight was always there. He could see in the dark, focus on small things close by, see far away…it was so sudden that at first he didn't realize he was seeing in the dark—he didn't realize it was night until Clary had come in to sleep with him.

It wasn't normal, and though going through it with someone would have made him less nervous, he wanted to understand what was happening before someone could ask questions about it.

He'd been dealing with it just fine, seeking answers and studying…He'd thought he might be able to control it.

Then the angel had appeared.

Jonathan had been dreaming—for once not tossing and turning in a nightmare—when everything had rippled and changed, like water washing away chalk on the sidewalk. The dream of home faded and was replaced by a fallen Alicante, the demon towers and buildings crumpled by war, and wet with blood—human and demon. He felt fear rising in his stomach, afraid of a new string of nightmares.

"Fear not, son of Angels," a mans voice said.

Jonathan turned and saw an angel standing a few feet away, dressed in silver robes with red runes decorating the sleeves. Hair blonde and curly, he was close enough that Jonathan could see that his eyes were pure gold, with no whites or pupils. A breeze brought the smell of smoke and death, and blew the robes enough to momentarily reveal a set of golden wings with watching eyes on each feather. Seeing the angel, Jonathan felt his fear rise and fall like a tide.

He fell to one knee. "I am at your service, Angel."

"Rise, Jonathan. I am not one that asks for honors, only attention. My name is Ithuriel, Angel of the Lord."

Slowly, he stood back up. "This isn't a dream."

"No, it is not. You're very perceptive. I would expect nothing less from a shadowhunter."

"Thank you. I'm not sure what to expect of an angel."

"I wouldn't expect you to."

"What happened here?"

"Straight to the point: I like that. Much like your sister."

Jonathan stiffened. "You've met my sister?"

"Indeed. But not in this place. I showed her what she needed to see, as I am with you."

"I need to see this?" He looked around. "Why do I need to see Alicante destroyed?"

"This is one path that the future can be. There are many ways that it becomes like this. Your mother could escape the Clave's hold and continue on her path. Or, someone else could take over her work when she has been sentenced, and this could be the result. Perhaps I should mention that this," he waved his arm to gesture at the fallen city. "Is not only here. This is that the world becomes. Fallen cities and broken homes and the dead unable to rest."

"Please tell me that you're here to tell me how to stop it."

"Indeed, I am."

"And you told Clary?"

"I did."

Jonathan wanted to ask why Clary hadn't told him anything, but decided against it. He wasn't sure when exactly the angel had seen her, but it could have been only minutes ago.

"What do we have to do?"

"Very soon, Clarissa will ask you with her to awaken your mother. You will agree. Once the two of you are alone together with her, you must ask her if it is the best idea to wake her. You must attempt to convince her to not do it."

"What? Why?"

"Because she needs to know what she wants." He turned away, looking at the fallen demon dower. "At this moment, she isn't sure. She must be sure of what she wants and how she feels in order to succeed. You must be as well."

"I know what I want, and it's not to wake her up," he shook his head. "If we wake her up, she can get away."

"So you feel no sorrow for her sentence?"

"No," Jonathan said firmly, looking the angel in the eye. "I stopped loving her when I found out that she stole my sister. I stopped caring about her when I found out what she did."

"Would you not prefer to have your family back?"

"It was never real. She stole the Cup right before Clary was born. She experimented on us and watched the effects for twelve years, then stole my sister and stole her memories—the family was an illusion. What we have now? That's family—real family. Father cares more for us that Jocelyn ever did." He shook his head. "So no. You can't have back what you never had in the first place."

"You don't believe she loved you?"

"I don't. You can't do things like that to your own children and claim to love them."

"Perhaps you're right. I am many things, young one, but a mind reader is not one of them. I cannot tell you if your mother holds love in her heart. However, I can tell you that love is possible. For most of her life, she has been on this extreme path—she cannot be anything but extreme. That said, extreme actions and feelings could go one way or the other. She has all of the potential and ability to change to a positive form of extreme. At the moment, she is bent on wreaking havoc without logic. Imagine if those feelings were made positive. She could be a brave, logical shadowhunter with a desire only to keep safe the ones she loves. Would that not have a better impact than her death?"

Jonathan thought about the angels' words for a long moment before speaking. "I know it might sound harsh because she's my mother, but no. And I know you're probably saying it because without her, this is what Alicante becomes, but there has to be another way. Unless you can guarantee that everything will be okay, I'm not interested in trying to save Jocelyn. All I care about is Clary being safe—which she will be when that woman is gone."


	36. Chapter 36

Clary was shocked when Jonathan approached her about the angel. In their brief contact, Ithuriel had made it seem as though the only time Jonathan might speak his name was if he named a seraph for him. The fact that he'd come to her when she was nose-deep in her Cup Noodles was, to say the least, extremely unexpected.

"An angel came to my dream last night and tried to get me to save Jocelyns life."

She almost spit out her noodles. "What?!"

"He said he came to you too. Did he?"

She nodded, too stunned to say anything.

"I don't think we should trust him," Jonathan said, sitting down across from where Clary was standing. "What he asked…it's too much. We can't save her."

"But if she could be good…"

"Clary, do you really believe that? After everything she did to us—to you! Do you really want her to be walking around freely? People who do stuff like that don't just repent and see the light, Clary. She won't either."

"But—"

"Are you really willing to risk it? That thing made it very clear to me that it's all if's and maybe's here. We could do everything in our power and it still couldn't be enough."

"I know, but-"

"And yes, it sucks that we're rooting against our own mother, but no one can blame us for that!"

Clary took a deep breath and set her ramen down. "I know, Jonathan. Okay? I know! I…don't want to risk it. But…we're shadowhunters. We're supposed to save people."

"We're supposed to save mundanes. We're supposed to save each other. As far as the Clave is concerned, Jocelyn isn't one of us anymore. You know that. We don't save the bad guys, Clary. Bad guys aren't just demons and rogue downworlders. They're also people who commit treason and enact diabolical plans to kill people, and kidnap children, and lie, and keep secrets, and experiment with things they don't understand on their own children, their children's friends, and strangers. We have to protect ourselves and mundanes from people like that. That's what shadowhunters do. We don't make a vow to save everyone. We make a vow in our training and runes and blood to save those who are worthy of being saved."

"And we just get to decide who's worthy or not?"

"Jocelyn isn't worthy, Clary! Rogue downworlders aren't worthy! Demons aren't worthy! We aren't playing God with who we save and you know it! Don't try to turn this around like we're playing with the strings of living puppets! We aren't!" He sighed. "Besides, that's not what this is and you know it."

"Jonathan, he must have shown you what will happen if we don't—"

"What might happen," he interrupted. "There are a million ways that that could happen, and a million ways to prevent it. Saving her from what she's earned is not the only way—in fact, there are more points against it."

"I know, but—"

"Clary, listen to yourself! Think about it!" Jonathan took a deep breath. "Listen. If you want to take a few steps and see what happens, fine. I'll be by your side. But the second you're put in any sort of danger, I'm backing out." His voice hardened. "I will not let you get hurt again."

She saw pain in his eyes for the first time in a while. It wasn't the pain of her not knowing him, but it was the pain of knowing she'd been hurt. She'd seen it since she'd 'met' him, shadowed by her lack of recognition, but still visible. Seeing that pain in his eyes once again, unmasked by anything else, struck her heart. It hurt her to see her brother in pain—especially because of her.

Part of her wanted to stay strong, to argue against him, but that part withered away at the pain in his eyes, the fear. She didn't want to admit that the angel had planted doubt in her mind about their mother. She didn't want to admit that the angel had been wrong. But she had to. The angel was wrong. There was no reason and no point in trying to save her mother. Jonathan was right. Anyone who could do such horrible things to their own children, really didn't deserve to be saved—especially not in the name of an angel.

Immediately, Clary rushed around the counter to wrap her arms around her brother. When she did, she almost laughed at the glimpse of shock she saw on his face, but didn't. She remained serious. "I'm sorry," she whispered in his ear. "You're right. She doesn't deserve saving."

Jonathan hugged her back, holding her gently but firmly in his arms, as though he could protect her from the harsh reality of sentencing their mother.

What they didn't know, and wouldn't find out for several weeks, was that this, their decision to let their mother get the punishment she deserved, was exactly what the angel wanted. Unknown to them, there was a tiny decision to be made that would make the difference between Jocelyn being free or put to death.

This decision to make sure she did.

And that was exactly what Ithuriel wanted to become of the woman who summoned, imprisoned, tortured, and forgot him in the dark, damp basement of the safe house in California.

unable to free herself from her coma spell, Jocelyn continued to leave him there. But with her gone, the spell protecting the house would break, and he would be free of the prison she'd kept him in for the last sixteen years.

* * *

"When I wake her up, I want to be alone," Clary said, her eyes unwavering from the form of her sleeping mother through the one-way mirror. On one side, Clary stood with a sizable group of shadowhunters. Jocelyn was on the other side, and Clary knew that once she stepped it, the wall of glass would be a simply mirror with everyone looking in.

Her father raised his brows. "Clary?"

"I want to talk to her. She'll be disoriented, and won't notice that we're being watched. I want to talk to her. Alone."

Valentine looked to the other shadowhunters, all dressed in gear, and nodded. They nodded back. He put a hand on his daughters shoulder. "We'll be right here."

She nodded. "I know."

Clary took a deep breath before pushing her shoulders back and entering the room, closing the door behind her. Though there were more than a dozen people looking at her, she felt suddenly alone, vulnerable to her mother and the anger she now instilled. Her fingers tightened around the small vial she held.

Just as she'd been instructed, Clary checked the restraints that had been placed around Jocelyn's wrists, ankles, and waist. Certain that they were secure, she took yet another deep breath, toying with the vial. She could almost feel the eyes on her through the mirrored glass.

As fast as she could without spilling the contents, she pulled out the plastic cork and let the few drops of liquid fall onto her mothers forhead. When it was empty, she replaced the stopper and placed the vial in the hip pocket of her pants.

Then she waited, feeling the tension coil in her shoulders and in the other room.

Her heart thundered away in her chest.

Ten seconds. Thirty. Fifty.

Jocelyns' eye lids trembled slightly before opening. Instantly looking confused, she went to raise her hand to her face, then shuttered in shock when it came up short. Looking down, she saw the restraints.

Then she saw Clary, and a huge grin slid into place.

"My Clary," she whispered. Her voice cracked from disuse but she didn't seem to notice. "You've grown." Her brow furrowed and her grin started to fade. "You look stronger."

"I am," she said, trying to find strength to put into her voice. Instead, she came up sounding like a little kid.

"What are you wearing?" With how tired and confused she was, she still managed to look angry. "Clary..."

She looked down, and immediately felt herself smile proudly. "Oh this? You should recognize it, mother." Jocelyns eyes widened in surprise, so used to 'mom'. "It's actually the gear that was made for me when I was twelve. It's amazing that it still fits."

"Gear..."

Her hair, darker and redder than Clary's fell into her face as she tried to sit up. It was frizzy from not being cut or conditioned, and almost two inches longer than it had been when she'd fallen asleep. Her eyes, despite having been closed for months, were wide, awake, and wild.

"What the hell is going on Clary? Tell me!"

"What's going on," she said carefully. "Is that you were found out—but you know that. You wouldn't be awake otherwise. You used magic, after all, bought it off a warlock who didn't even make it!"

"Tessa," she half-growled.

"Is loyal to the Clave," Clary finished for her. "She also doesn't appreciate being lied to. You thought you were so clever, blaming Father for all the crimes you'd committed. Getting Tessa to spread rumors about him. Did you ever consider that he might actually come looking for me?"

Her eyes widened. "Where is he? Where's my husband?"

"Oh, he'll be here. He's meeting with the Clave to decide that they're going to do with you."

She glared at her daughter. "So you're a shadowhunter now. That's what this is. They sent my own daughter to interrogate me? No need, I see. You appear to already know everything."

"I don't, and they didn't send me. I asked to come. There's something I need to know." Clary looked her mother in the eye. "Why did you take me? With all of your sick experiments, you had to have realized that you needed more than just me. What about Jonathan? Why just me? Why not both of us?" There it was. It was the one thing she couldn't understand, the one thing that wasn't answered in her memories. Jocelyn obviously knew by then about the effect of the angel blood on Clary—that it gave her the ability to read and create runes. It made her valuable to everything Jocelyn was doing. It made her powerful. But what about Jonathan? What had it done to him? Why wasn't he…good enough, for want of better word. This was the question, the real reason that Clary wanted to be alone with her mother, even for a moment. She knew she wouldn't be able to ask later.

"Because the angel's blood made you stronger," Jocelyn said after a moment of thought. "It gave you abilities. It made you powerful—the ultimate shadowhunter, able to read and write the language of angels! But Jonathan?" She shook her head, and had the audacity to look remorseful. "It didn't take. Yes, it made him a better fighter, but gave him nothing else that was useful for a shadowhunter. Nothing but love." She sighed. "The angels made his heart bigger, so to speak. But not for them, not for his people. Only for you." She glared at her daughter. "Jonathan could have been the greatest shadowhunter to ever live if the blood had done so well on him. But all it did was make him love you more! I had to help make you stronger and he wouldn't let me! Everything was about protecting you—he didn't care if you were strong, or if you were living up to your potential. All he cared about was making you happy and keeping you safe—as if that would stop the demons from entering our world and killing us all!" Jocelyn's body thrashed against her restraints madly for a long moment, then she went limp and let out a long sigh, eyes closed. "I gave him too much of the angels. Because of that, he was useless." She looked at her daughter. "But do you want to know the real reason I didn't bring him?" Slowly, a smiled formed on her lips, growing until the grin split her face, and her eyes glared up at Clary. "I didn't want to. I never wanted a son, Clary. Especially one that couldn't fight. And Jonathan? I tried to help him and all he did was care about his little sister. He gave up on the one thing that's important. And I knew that that would happen. It was my own two mistakes, Clary: keeping him, and trying to make him a better shadowhunter. I wanted to use demon blood—that's right. I wanted to use demon blood on him instead of angel blood—and I should have. At least then he would be strong, strong enough to resist the urges and fantasies that the angels cursed him with. AT LEAST IF HE WAS PART DEMON HE WOULD BE WORTHY OF MY LOVE!" She was screaming, thrashing around madly, her hair wild and eyes wide open. The screams turned to laughs, and she looked completely insane.

Then the door flew open and Valentine came in, surrounded by the other shadowhunters. They flocked around the mad woman on the bed. Valentine grabbed Clary, wrapping his arms around her tightly, and basically dragged her out of the room. The door closed behind them, but Valentine didn't stop until they were outside.

He released her slowly, and Clary numbly let herself be led across the Angel Square. When they stopped in an alley, she slid down the wall and pulled her knees up to her chin. After a short moment, Valentine sat beside her, their shoulders touching. Through her numbness, she felt comfort in the warmth he gave off.

"It's the coma," he said after several silent minutes. His voice was hard, but with a touch of reassurance. "Fell said that that might happen. After being asleep so long, a person can get stir-crazy. It won't last. That's not who she really is. She just can't process her emotions right now."

"But what she was…that's how she feels," Clary said softly. She was staring at her hands, twisting her fingers. "Just because she's acting crazy, doesn't mean she really is. To her, everything she said was true."

"Clary…"

They were both quiet.

"You don't have to comfort me, Dad." She was feeling better just having him near. She smiled at him, though it didn't reach her eyes. "I don't care about her. She may be my mother, but she's not my mom." She sighed. "I was hoping to have something to tell Jonathan. That's all."

Jonathan had volunteered to stay behind with Simon at the house in New York while Clary and Valentine woke Jocelyn in Alicante. He hadn't asked her to say anything, and in fact assumed she wouldn't. It had been pretty much agreed upon that Clary would awake her and let the other shadowhunters do the rest. But something had stuck with her the entire time, and she couldn't ignore it, couldn't let the opportunity to find answers slip through her fingers.

According to her brother, Ithuriel had said that Clary needed to be 100% sure of what she wanted. Though she hadn't expected such an extreme reaction from Jocelyn, Clary was sure now that she wanted her gone. She didn't want to live in the same world with someone like that. She couldn't. Death wasn't something to take lightly, and she didn't. Jocelyn, however, did. In her experiments, she'd barely even had theories of the outcomes. How many had she tested on before her own children, if any? They could have died as infants because of it—was it something she'd even thought about? Clary couldn't even guess. In her mothers mind, death was a byproduct of her experiments, not something to care about. All she cared about was getting further, learning more, proving more. How much angel blood was needed to make a shadowhunter? How did it stay in the blood for so long simply by reproduction? If a non-shadowhunter human with angel blood had children with a human without it, would they be shadowhunters? Would they have the gifts that the blood had given their parent? No matter what, a shadowhunter child will be a shadowhunter—whether the other parent is shadowhunter or mundane. The bloodline is true even without training or runes. How many had to die before she found if it reins true with mundanes with angel blood? How many people did she kill for learning the truth, or for saying too much?

How many people died at the hands of Jocelyn Morgenstern?

"Perhaps," Valentine said carefully. "Perhaps we shouldn't tell your brother."

"You think we shouldn't?"

"I think that Jonathan has been through a lot. And you've endured even worse, Clary. I don't want either of you to be put through any more pain or anger. The sooner that woman is gone, the better you two will be. I don't think that Jonathan deserves to hear what we heard. Do you?"

"No. I don't. He's been through a lot."

"You didn't deserve it either," he said softly, taking his daughters hand. It was small in comparison, and made Clary feel safe and loved. "You've been through enough—too much. I shouldn't have let you go in alone. I wish I hadn't. The only thing worse than hearing her say those awful things about my son, was to know that she said then to my daughter."

"I'm sorry, dad." She wanted to cry, and leaned against her fathers' side. He wrapped an arm around her, still holding her hand. "I just had to know…"

"Don't be sorry, Clarissa. We all believed we wanted to know."

"I don't think we should tell him. No matter how much he asks, we shouldn't tell him. It'll only make it worse."

"I agree."

"But we shouldn't lie. We should just tell him that he doesn't want to know, and we won't tell him."

"That's a good idea. The last thing either of you needs right now is to be lied to."

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Can we go home now?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Valentine stood up swiftly, and carefully pulled Clary to her feet. He put his arm back around her, and led the way to the Portal.

By the time they arrived back in New York, Jocelyn had been cleared of her shadowhunter name and rights before a meeting of shadowhunters. An hour later when they pulled into the driveway, Jocelyn was just arriving at her cell in the Silent City, with two shadowhunters at her gate, and two at the nearest five exits.

In two days time, Jocelyn would be stripped of her runes, and put to death. The next day, the Morgenstern's would return to Alicante dressed in green— _green to mend our broken hearts_ , as the rhyme said—to remove her things from the manor and apartment where they'd been for four years in the hopes of a different end.

In Clary's mind, as she thought about it all in the car back to the house with her dad, the only good news was that Simon would be with her the entire time, as the Inquisitor had approved Valentine and Jonathans offer to train Clary and Simon. Unless he decided otherwise, Simon would not be leaving for the academy except to retrieve his things.

 _At least I have Simon_ , she though, smiling as she fell asleep with her temple pressed to the car window.


	37. Chapter 37

_The pain was constant. No amount of time could take away this pain. She was alone in the dark, the endless dark. No, there was the light. It came with the burn of a stele healing her. The pain was gone. Her mother was there._

 _So was Lucian._

 _Mother smiled and asked Clary to demonstrate her newest collection of moves. Clarissa watched Lucian's eyes avert when she nearly made a mistake. Her mother beamed at her progress. She left to keep from being found by the Clave._

 _A knife pierced her thigh in the dark. How did she still have the breath to scream? How did her nerves still work enough to feel the pain?_

 _The burn of the stele kept her from bleeding out in the dark._

 _She curled up as tight as she could, hissing through her teeth at the pain._

 _To anything that could possibly be listening, she whispered, "please save me."_

 _The angels, the heavens, the universe, the devil, the demons, and the monster upstairs were all silent in response._

 _No one was coming to save her._

* * *

Clary sat cross-legged in the back yard on a throw blanket. The thin metal staff she'd been training with earlier was beside her, looking more like a forgotten broom stick than a fighting staff. She'd been using to the vault herself across the yard. Now, she was meditating-which wasn't something she normally did. Well, she called it meditating, but she wasn't really sure what she was doing. Sitting in the middle of the yard with her eyes closed, trying to calm herself down with the sounds around her. The traffic from the streets, the gentle breeze through the leafless trees, birds in the branches and on the power lines.

Everyone was gone. Valentine was back in Alicante with Maryse. Jonathan and Simon were...somewhere. They'd left before Clary had woken up, having left only a note that they would be back before dinner.

With everyone out, Clary had decided to try vaulting. She was meant to be sparring, but that required a second person.

She'd woken before sunrise from a nightmare and hadn't been able to fall back asleep. Drawing hadn't helped, and neither had showering. Breakfast had barely been a blip in the remaining chills, and training had been somewhere between a clenched-eye panic and a wall of water separating her from the images behind her lids. The 'meditation' was helping a little bit, if only for moments at a time. When her concentration on the sounds lapsed, she heard his voice and felt his stele on her back.

Out of nowhere, Clary jumped to her feet and grabbed the dagger in her boot. Not thinking, she ran over to the tree and sunk the blade into the thick of the trunk, up to the hilt. Her fingers released for half a second before curling back around the handle. She pulled it out, only to stab it right back in. After doing this three more times, _his_ face appeared behind her lids. She stabbed harder. Five more times and her arm was getting sore. _He_ was smirking at her every time she blinked. Tears began to fall. Seven more. She was crying. Her sobs sounded like screams. Ten. There was a huge chunk missing from the tree. She directed the stabbing further up. How could _he_ still be smirking like that? Twenty. _He_ was laughing at her! The tip of the stele burned her spine. Fifty. Her knuckles were bleeding and covered in splinters. She pulled the dagger back and stabbed another three times before she realized that the blade was no longer attached, buried in the trunk. Screaming and boiling with rage, she ran back to the blanket and grabbed the staff tightly in both hands. It hit the tree with a satisfying _tang._ _His_ face began to twist with anger as _he_ faded from her vision. _Tang, tang, thwang, tong, tang, tog, thwap, tang, SNAP_! The staff broke, but she didn't stop. Blood was twisting in long lines from her fingers to her elbows, but she kept going. She barely adjusted her hold on the broken metal before continuing to beat the tree. _SNAP!_ It broke in half again. Four more swings and there was another snap. Clary gripped the metal tighter, ignoring the burn of open wounds, and used the jagged end to stab the trunk. Again and again. When it snapped again, the weakest point wasn't the end, but the middle. It splinted in her hand, and the force of the motion sent a long sliver in and across the flesh of her palm. Her hand opened, but the staff end didn't fall.

She did, right to her knees, and she screamed in pain. Shards of broken metal and long wood splinters pierced her knees and shins. Her knees felt wet and she realized numbly that she'd hit a puddle of blood from her hand. Biting her lip so hard that it split, she ripped the end of the staff away, pulling it from her hand. Pushing herself back, she sat in a squat and began pinching and pulling and ripping bits from her legs. Not bothering to be careful, she did the same to her knuckles, barely noting that with each piece she removed from her flesh, the more she bled.

As she stared down at the little pile of bloody mess, Clary realized that when she blinked, she no longer saw Lucian behind her lids.

* * *

Jonathan grinned excitedly as Simon huffed and dropped himself into the passenger seat of the car. They were both sweating, but Jonathan wasn't even breathing hard-Simon looked like he might have an asthma attack. They'd worked hard, and for most of the day, sparing with each other until one of them gave in. In the end, Jonathan had called it a match, saying it was time to go home. Simon had immediately slumped against a tree, and hadn't even huffed when Jonathan complimented him on not dropping his weapon.

The woods were much more fun to fight in than the backyard.

"Good job out there today," he said as he grabbed two bottled waters from the back seat of the car. He handed one to Simon. "You were awesome."

"Thank," Simon puffed. "You. Too."

Jonathan smirked. He'd really worn the guy out. "Thanks. We'll take a break tomorrow-you'll probably be really sore when you wake up."

"I. Burn."

"I know. That happens. I'd offer an _iratze_ , but it'd probably kill you."

"Risk. It."

"But then Clary would kill me, and I'd have to keep training you in the afterlife."

"Ass."

He laughed and started the car. Despite the chill outside, he turned the AC on, hoping to cool Simon down. Before putting the car in drive, he grabbed his stele from his boot and etched a quick _iratze_ into his shoulder. To him, it looked upside down, but he knew it wasn't. Over the years, he'd gotten pretty good at doing runes upright while looking down at them. He wasn't sure if it made a difference, but it made him feel like they were more effective.

Once they were out of the park, it was only a forty minute drive home. Simon was breathing normally again, so he called in a pick-up order to be ready by the time they were back in the neighborhood. Valentine wouldn't be home, so it would only be the three of them.

They hadn't eaten since breakfast. Jonathan would have killed for a coffee, but knew he'd feel better after food, a shower, and a long night of sleep.

And seeing his sister.

 **A/N: sorry for the absence. No promises on speed, but I'll try. I missed you guys!**

 **TC**


	38. Chapter 38

The tree in the back was leaning at an odd angle into the yard when Jonathan and Simon pulled into the driveway, and they noticed it immediately.

"What the hell?" Simon started to say, only to realize that he was talking to nothing. He saw the front door open. "Damn, he's fast." Clearly, Jonathan had been holding back on him in the woods.

When he got inside, Jonathan was nowhere in sight. Simon fought against the remaining fatigue and soreness, and ran to the back door. No one was there, but the tree was broken in the middle, seriously battered with splinters strewn around it, and leaning almost at a 45 degree angle. Was that blood? A bladeless handle from a dagger was tossed a few feet away. Bits of what looked like a metal staff were broken around the scene as well. Blood was everywhere. Damn. He ran around to the stairs and up, checking every room. He paused outside his own, just long enough to hear a sound across the hall in Clary's room. He spun around and pushed the door open.

"Simon!" Jonathan gasped. "Call father! Now!"

It took Simon a long moment to realize what was happening.

Clary's room was covered in drawings once again, and more than half of them were streaked in blood like it was some macabre detailing. There were drops of blood on the floor, smeared on the desk, on the bed. There were three broken pens on the floor by the desk that Simon could see, and seven snapped pencils. Jonathan was on his knees in the middle of the room holding Clary's limp body, and they both had blood on them, mostly Clary. Along with the blood, she also had ink and graphite all over her hands. Her hair was sticking together with it all, and some was stuck to her face and neck. Eyes closed, limp, she looked like the victim of a bad cop show.

Jonathan pressed his fingers to the side of her neck, and lifted her arm to hold her wrist. He looked up. "Simon. Now!"

"I-is she—"

"I've got a pulse," he said tightly. "Go call my father and tell him to get back here!"

Simon went across the hall to grab his phone, still on the charger, and called the number saved under 'Valentine Morganstern Might Not Work In Idris.' Indeed, it went straight to voicemail.

"Valentine," Simon said, trying to sound calm. "It's Simon. Jonathan and I just got home and found Clary in her room covered in blood. She's unconscious, and she's been drawing again. Please call me back!" He hung up and shoved the phone back into his pocket.

"Well?" Jonathan asked when he returned. He was sticking his stele back into his boot. Simon saw at least three _iratzes_ on Clary, all fading.

"Voicemail. Did she wake up?"

"No. But I think she made herself bleed. I don't think she was attacked."

"Huh?"

"You saw the tree. Simon, she's bleeding from her hands and knees. She was drawing and there's only blood on some of the pictures. There's blood coming up the stairs. Her phone was in her pocket!" He shook her head. "I don't know what really happened, but I know that there wasn't someone here."

"Well, that's a start."

"Yeah." Sighing, Jonathan lifted Clary into his arms and stood up. "At least she stopped bleeding." He took her over to her bed and laid her down.

Simon avoided looking at the pool of blood where she'd been on the floor. She was wearing shorts and a tank, and was covered in enough blood as it was. The wounds on her hands and knees were closing as he watched them. "I'll grab a wet towel."

"I'll get a mop," Jonathan nodded, leaving the room.

In the bathroom, Simon wet a clean rag and went to sit beside Clary's bed. Carefully, he swiped at her legs. The blood came off easily. It hadn't been there long. Jonathan came back with the mop and began wiping up the blood on the floor. When Simon was finished cleaning Clary's arms and face, he folded the rag and knelt beside her desk to get the blood on the chair. He took the rag from the mop and went downstairs, catching up the blood on the handrail of the stairs. When he was finished, he went to the laundry room and tossed them into the wash with some bleach—whoever had chosen white towels and rags was crazy.

Jonathan was in the kitchen when Simon left the laundry room. He was leaning against the counter, with his cell phone pressed to his ear.

"No, she's fine. She's sleeping…no, she hasn't woken up…three. I don't know, but it all looked self-inflicted…yeah…I'm not sure. I'll take some pictures once she's awake. I don't want to wake her…Yeah. Okay. Let me know…I will. I'm sorry we worried you, Father. Okay. Bye." He hung up and sighed loudly, almost falling into the barstool beside him. He looked over at Simon. "That was my father."

"He okay?"

"Yeah. He was just worried. I told him everything was fine. He's still needed in Idris. I told him we were fine here and would call if anything happened."

"Okay. Did you tell him about the tree?"

"Yeah."

"Poor thing."

"I know. She really did a number on it," he shook his head, chuckling. "Whatever happened, I don't think the tree deserved it."

"It was probably talking smack. You know how trees are. They never know when to shut up."

"Yeah. I don't think it'll be a problem anymore though. She really…well, it'll probably have to be cut down."

"As it should. Dumb-ass tree."

"Agreed."

"Hungry?"

"I don't want to leave."

"Jonathan," Simon said patiently. "We already picked up food."

"Oh. Right. I'll get it."

"No, I will. Just sit down. I'll be right back."

In the driveway, the car windows were still open and the keys were in the ignition. At least the thing was off. Simon grabbed their backpacks from the back seat along with the two plastic bags of food. He sighed and leaned against the side of the car, stuffing the keys into his pocket.

Things hadn't really been normal for a while now, but they'd seemingly been about to start getting normal—as normal as things could get for shadowhunters. Once everything was done and he could know what was happening, he would help Clary and her family move back to Alicante. He would go back to the Academy. He would graduate and ascend. Clary would adjust into her life.

So why, why now was everything getting weird again? It had been a while since Clary had drawn like that. Recently, she'd been nervous and looked upset, but he wasn't allowed to know why. Why after all this time had she started drawing like that again? He hadn't really paid attention to what exactly she'd drawn, but he knew they were detailed images—he also knew that Clary would normally have spent a least a full day working to make pictures so perfect. It was one of the things that had made him so nervous about the drawings over the last few months. Clary was definitely capable of doing some amazing art, and she frequently did. She had a very specific style that was present in all of her pictures, clearly marking them as hers. But in all the years he'd known her, she'd never been able to draw so well and so quickly. The thing that worried him most about the speed she used for these was that it was so unnatural—not just for Clary. No person should be able to do such detailed pieces so quickly.

"What the hell is going on?" He asked quietly.

Clary woke up confused and sore. She didn't remember getting into bed or even inside the house. Slowly, she lifted her hands and saw they were clean and blank. No blood or splinters. Had she imagined it? Dreamt it?

Carefully, she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She wasn't under the blanket, merely lying on top. That was weird. She didn't bother turning on the light, going straight for the bathroom to shower. When she was done, she went to her dresser and pulled on a new pair of loose workout shorts and a t-shirt with pineapples on it. She grabbed socks and a pair of converse before leaving. She sat on the stairs to put them on, and then headed down to get something to eat. How long had she been asleep? She was starving.

The angle of light from the windows suggested it was late morning or sometime in the afternoon. Jeez. It had been mid-morning when she'd been outside—maybe it was a dream and it was still the day before? Who knew?

Jonathan was sitting in the kitchen with a glass of OJ, texting hurriedly on his cell phone.

Clary leaned against the kitchen doorway with her arms crossed, and watched her brother for a long moment. From where she stood, she could clearly see that he was texting their father, but not what he was typing out. It looked like they'd been exchanging long messages. She wondered what they were talking about. It occurred to her that it was a little weird to be watching him this way, so she cleared her throat and stepped into the kitchen.

"Hey," she said, jumping up onto the counter beside him.

"Clary! You're awake!" He looked relieved. "Thank god! I was worried."

She shrugged. "Sorry. I guess I wore myself out with training. I don't even remember coming inside. When did you get back? Where's Simon?"

"He went out to the car to grab food. Wait, what are you talking about? You don't remember coming in?"

"Nope. Last I remembered I was outside. I must have had a bad dream...anyway, I woke up in bed just now like nothing happened. Maybe I slept all day." She shrugged again and jumped down. "What'd you guys get for dinner?"

"Uh-"

"Clary, you're awake!" Simon was suddenly there, dropping bags on the counter and pulling her into a tight hug. "God, Clary, we were worried! What the hell happened?"

She blinked, then looked quickly between him and her brother. "What do you mean? I just woke up."

Simon looked at Jonathan, then back at Clary. "No, Clary, when we got back, you were on the floor of your room covered in blood! You'd been drawing again. You killed the tree in the backyard! What happened?"

Shaking her head slowly, she looked down at her hands again. Not even a scratch. "No, that was just a dream. Did I sleep-call you or something?"

"You don't remember?"

"No! Look, I was doing some training with a staff and that was it. I mean, I guess I came in and fell asleep after because the next thing I remember is waking up in my bed just a few minutes ago."

The boys looked at each other. "Clary, we found one of the staffs broken by the tree," Simon said.

"And," Jonathan added. "A dagger handle with the blade stuck in the tree. You were in your room bleeding from your hands and knees."

"That's crazy," she said. "I'm fine."

"It took three _iratzes_ to make you stop bleeding."

Her eyes widened. "I don't remember any of this."

"Why do you keep looking at your hands?" Simon asked.

"I mean, you keep saying I was bleeding from my hands. But I'm fine. Not even a scratch!"

Jonathan stood up. "I know, that's because I used three _iratzes_ to stop the bleeding. But we spend almost an hour cleaning up the blood. It was everywhere, Clary. I...I thought you were dead."

"You looked dead," Simon whispered.

Clary looked between them. The blood, the dagger, the broken staff...she didn't remember any of it. Had she been attacked? No, she would have remembered that. Plus, they'd brought up the drawing again, and she wouldn't have been able to draw in that way if she'd been hurt by someone.

"Clary?"

She looked up. "Huh?"

"Are you okay? You look freaked out."

"I...I'm fine. I just don't remember. I was vaulting across the yard with the staff, and then I was waking up in my bed. What the hell..."

"Okay, that's that. I'm calling father to come home."

Jonathan reached for his phone, but Clary got it first. "No! You don't have to call him. We're fine! He doesn't need to come home."

"Clary. You were hurt. You were drawing. You were bleeding-less than two hours ago, and you don't remember any of it. We have to tell father."

"No, Jonathan. He's busy. He's working-that's why he's in Idris. It's not like he's on vacation or something. He's working. We don't need to pull him away from all that just because I forgot a couple things. Okay, maybe I hit my head while I was training-it happens all the time. Maybe it's nothing. But whatever it is, we can figure it out on our own. Let dad finish his work, okay?"

"Well, we already told him initially."

"Huh?"

"When we found you in your room we called him. And then I called him when I decided you were okay. Now I'm texting him. You know he could be home in less than an hour, right? Bringing him home wouldn't be the end of the world, Clary."

"I know, but it's not necessary. We can figure it out. Just let him work and tell him that I'm fine. Whatever's going on, dad can't help up, Jonathan. He wasn't here."

"So what do you suggest?"

Clary shrugged and crossed her arms. "How about we look at the pictures and go from there?"

"Fine. But one thing goes wrong, and I call father to come home."

"Fine."


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: I'm running low on ideas and I need help. Send me a private message or leave a comment on this chapter to let me know what you'd like to happen. I want a big twist or big dramatic event that will help the story continue. TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT! Thanks!**

 **-Tiz OC**

 **p.s. until I get some more ideas, here's a filler chapter!**

 _A few months ago…_

Jonathan sat in the living room of the Alicante apartment, watching his father pace back and forth, phone pressed to his ear. He was pretty sure he was on hold.

It had been months. They'd left Idris for London, Germany, the US…Now they were back, just waiting for a lead—that's what father called them. Leads. So far, the name was deceptive. Nothing they'd heard had led to anything.

It had been almost four years since Jonathan had seen his sister and mother. Almost four years since he'd been woken by his father's panic at their missing family. It had been only days before Clary's birthday, and she hadn't been there to celebrate, to be named a shadowhunter. Jonathan wished he knew why.

He refused to rest—there would be plenty of time for that when he had his sister back.

She'd be sixteen in a matter of days.

"Yes, Marcus!" His father said suddenly into the phone, abruptly standing still. "I heard you have news?" After a few seconds, he looked over at Jonathan and nodded.

Jonathan stood up and headed into his room— _before_ , they'd always spent weekends in Alicante, and he'd shared the room with Clary. Her side of the room looked exactly the same as it had the last time she'd been there. The sketchbook was still open on her pillow. She'd been working on the mermaid again, the one on the fountain at the manor house. She came back to drawing it every so often. Her hairbrush was still on the nightstand beside her headphones. The other side of the room was all Jonathan, and it didn't looked anything like it'd used to. His things were dirty, strewn everywhere like a mundane teenager. The bed wasn't made, and the comforter was more than half on the floor. He stared at his sisters side for a long moment before sighing loudly and grabbing the duffle bag from the foot of his bed. He forced himself not to look back as he left and headed for his fathers room to grab his bag.

Back in the living room, the man was back to pacing, still on the phone, this time listening. He looked worried, nervous.

Carefully, Jonathan dropped the bags by the front door and continued sitting on the couch, waiting.

"Alright, Marcus. Thank you again, so much. Yeah, I'll let you know. Okay." He hung up and sighed. He looked at his son. "Got everything?"

Jonathan nodded. "Where are we headed?"

"New York."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Someone said they saw a woman with a kid boarding a flight to JFK."

"Should I call a warlock?"

He shook his head. "No, son. I'll take care of that. It could be a while before we can leave. Why don't you go clean yourself up?"

"But Father—"

"They'll be on the plane for a while," he said, putting a hand on his son's shoulder. "Until we have a warlock to Portal us, we can't get there. Go clean yourself up and get a little rest."

"I don't—"

"Jonathan," he said sternly. "You'll be no help if you're tired. I need you to be in top shape. Clary needs you to be feeling your best."

He bit his lip and hesitated for a moment before nodding once. "I won't be long." _Clary needs me_

In the past, they'd stayed in hotels or apartments with 30-day leases. In New York, they were lucky enough to find a vacant house owned by a shadowhunter family just outside the city. Old house from old shadowhunter money—back when the Clave paid for spoils. Thankfully, there were none remaining around the house.

Jonathan went straight upstairs to drop his stuff in his room. The first door he opened was fairly basic with a canopy bed. The second was almost identical but without the canopy. He set his stuff on the desk and pulled a few things out.

Back in the first room with the canopy bed, in the middle of the desk, he placed Clary's silver stele. When they found her, she would want it back—though she probably already had a new one.

In every place they stayed, Jonathan brought the stele with him, along with a few of her things from home. Whether it was an extra room or an extra sleeping bag, it was always in the place they saved for her. Every time he placed her things, Jonathan wondered if his father did the same for mother.

It rarely crossed Jonathan's mind that his mother was behind it all. Of course, it crossed his mind on occasion—how could it not? After all, they'd both gone missing together, and all reports were of the two of them together. Some of mothers things had been missing, but none of Clary's. There had been no signs of struggle that morning. Did he want to believe that his mother had taken Clary away? Of course not. But at least if it had been her, Clary was okay. Their mother wouldn't hurt her.

In the beginning, there had been rumors that kept them from searching. People suddenly started saying that Valentine had gotten rid of them, that he was plotting against the Clave, that he'd stolen the Mortal Cup. The Clave had kept Jonathan from his father for weeks while they investigated. They'd come up with nothing. The trail was cold by then—they'd been more concerned with the Cup than Clary. For a minute, Jonathan had questioned whether he wanted to be a part of them, caring more about item than people. For him, Clary was the first priority. Why didn't they care about her? How could he be one of them if they didn't care about his sister? They hadn't even listened. They hadn't even looked.

"The Cup was a gift from the Angel," his father had reminded him. "Consider if you were missing something that Clary had given you. You would look for it before you helped someone else, right?"

He agreed with that. But if the Clave cared so much about the Angel's gifts, they wouldn't have lost the Cup in the first place—aside, they would have known the location of the mirror. It wasn't the same.

Clary…

"Jonathan! Come down here please!"

He closed the door of the bedroom carefully with one last look that the stele.

Valentine was in the kitchen when Jonathan came down the stairs. "Yes, father?"

"I'm going into the city to check in at the Institute here. Do you want to come along?"

"No. I'm going to look around, actually. Maybe ask if anyone's seen her."

"Keep your phone with you."

"I will."

"Be careful."

"I will."

Smiling sadly and lovingly, Valentine ruffled his sons hair slightly before heading out. Jonathan grinned at his back.

Now to bring his sister home.


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: I'm running low on ideas and I need help. Send me a private message or leave a comment on this chapter to let me know what you'd like to happen. I want a big twist or big dramatic event that will help the story continue. TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT! Thanks!**

 **-Tiz OC**

 _A few weeks ago: New York_

Clary sat in the living room with her sketchpad, hands skimming the page, mind skimming memory. It had been years since she'd seen the statue, though it sometimes felt like only yesterday. She was determined to draw it perfectly, exact in every detail—difficult, because she hadn't seen it in years. Still, she had a dozen years of memory of the fountain mermaid at the manor house in Idris. One of them had to be perfect.

It occurred to her as she drew that this was by no means a new thing. She'd attempted to draw the mermaid hundreds of times trying to get it right. But the real thing she realized, sitting in the living room of the rented house in New York, was that there was no real reason to draw the mermaid. It was just a statue—a piece of art that someone else had done—and not even one that held actual value in her life. Just a statue of a mermaid in a garden fountain. It held no lore or story, no past. It seemed that the only reason that Clary was repeatedly drawing it was because it was something she did. She'd always drawn the mermaid. She didn't know why.

"Ah," her father's voice said from behind her. He was leaning against the back of the couch watching her, clearly having stopped on his way to the yard, as he was dressed to train. "The mermaid again."

She blinked once before smiling up at her father. "Yup. Again."

"Why have you always drawn it? I swear there's always been more interesting art at the manor."

She shrugged. "I don't know. I was just thinking that. I don't know if there's a reason. I've just always…drawn it. Maybe I'm trying to get it perfect."

"Perhaps. Would you like to join me for some training?"

"Nah, I'm still sore from this morning."

"From fighting or from holding back?"

She reached back to smack his arm. "I did not hold back!" He gave her a look. "Much."

He laughed. "Sure. Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

"Have fun, dad!"

The morning had been spent training with Jonathan and Simon. Jonathan was a great teacher, as Clary already know, and had more than enough experience with it—he'd helped train other shadowhunters their age since they could walk, along with Clary at multiple different times in their lives. Now, he was helping train Simon before the Academy took over again. It wasn't necessary, but it would assure he knew some of what was going on.

While Jonathan was an established trainer among shadowhunters, Clary was not. Jonathan had been taught to teach others, and he knew how hard to push, how hard to hit. Clary did not. So when Jonathan asked if Clary could spar with Simon so he could get the hang of a move, she didn't hold back. After that, Jonathan pulled her aside.

"Simon's never done this before one-on-one," he'd said in hushed tones, though they were across the yard from Simon. "Go easy on him. This is all in our nature and we've been doing it forever. Simon is ever new at this. Just remember that."

"So what should I do?"

"Slow down and don't hit as hard," he shrugged. "If it helps, pretend that you're having fun with it. Go slow like you're making fun of him."

"That's just rude," Clary smirked. "Is that really what you do when you're training?"

"Sometimes. Usually with kids. You know I'm not a fan of them." He shrugged again. "Anyway, it's something I was suggested to do when I first started training other kids."

"Gotcha. Okay. I'll slow down."

"Oh, and don't really tell Simon that you're going easy on him. It might make him feel bad—we don't want that to come back on him later."

She nodded once and ran back across the yard. She wouldn't normally be helping with training, but she loved sparring—even just watching other people. Her own training had been earlier in the morning, so she was actually meant to be relaxing. But seeing them spar… Jonathan had asked her to help! How could she say no to her brother?! She couldn't.

"Everything okay?" Simon asked as she approached.

"Yup," she grinned. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he nodded. He leaned forward to give her a quick kiss.

Clary blushed and turned to make sure Jonathan hadn't seen—not because them kissing was a secret or anything, but because they were training. It was supposed to be all work. She didn't want to be reprimanded by her brother for kissing her boyfriend.

So she'd forced herself to slow down while training with Simon. Every time she saw an opening to get a point, she had to keep her speed in check. When she went to hit, she had to remind her muscles that the force wasn't needed. A few bruises were part of training—it happened. But she didn't need to accidently break something. Since Simon was still technically a mundane, having not ascended, he was still breakable, more so than Clary was used to fighting, and he couldn't be healed with an _iratze_. A small fracture from too much force could keep him out for weeks—which was not the point of training. If he got a fracture or a broken bone, he wouldn't be able to train at the Academy either—although, it would just mean more studying, but still. Simon wasn't going to learn about history. He was going to learn how to fight and kill demons.

Now, Simon was upstairs showering and changing. Jonathan was out grabbing food.

And Clary was trying to figure out why she was drawing the mermaid from the fountain. Maybe now it didn't look right because sore hands don't draw at smoothly. Maybe she was drawing it because she'd always liked it. Or…maybe it was something Jocelyn had done to her. How likely was it that this fixation was a result of angel blood or magic of some other kind? It could have easily been used as an attest to her memory—if she was drawing the mermaid, she had her memories. As far as she could remember, she hadn't drawn it during the last four years—not even for her now-abandoned graphic novel. In the last four years, she hadn't cared much for mermaids at all.

Or maybe she just liked the statue.

Rolling her eyes at herself and closed the sketchbook. It was stupid to wonder so much about it. It was a statue that she liked drawing. End of story.

Sighing, suddenly bored, Clary got up and headed for the kitchen. Jonathan would be back any minute with lunch, so she decided to pull down cups and plates. Their father probably wouldn't eat with them, as he was due at the Institute, but she pulled a plate for him anyway. Once everything was settled, she knew he would eat with them more often. As a shadowhunter of old money, they had plenty to live off of in Idris, so he would no longer have to work—thought Clary hadn't known until only a few days ago that her father was being paid to assist at the New York Institute—apparently Robert Lightwood spent most of his time in Idris with the Consul, and Maryse couldn't do everything by herself. Clary wondered what she would do once they left and she was forced to do it all alone. Would her children assist her? Alec was 18, with Isabelle and Jace not much younger. Surely they would help her out.

"Clary?" Simon said, suddenly appearing in the kitchen doorway. He was smirking at her. "Are you okay?"

She cleared her throat and straightened up, setting down the stack of plates she'd been holding. "Uh, yeah. I'm fine. Just tired. And hungry."

"Me too. What were you thinking about?" He walked over and brushed her hand with his lightly before taking hold of it.

She smiled at him. "Do you want the boring truth or something exciting?"

He looked around with just his eyes. "Is anyone else home?"

"Dad's outside and Jonathan is out," she said. She bit her lip.

"Something interesting than."

"I was thinking about you."

His eyes flashed and he took a step toward her, backing her into the corner of the counter. He leaned forward, his arms like a cage around her. She placed her hands on his chest and jumped onto her toes to press her lips to his.

Kissing Simon was something Clary loved doing. They'd been so comfortable with each other since Day 1, and the comfort had only been disturbed by their location. In her mind, at least, it was weird to kiss Simon when they were surrounded by her family. Maybe because she wasn't used to having a boyfriend _and_ a brother _and_ a dad—especially all at once and all together. Simon was, after all, living with them. Being that she also hadn't had any romantic life when she was 12, it wasn't really something she understood how to do around her family.

She wished she could kiss Simon whenever she felt like it.

The edge of the counter was tight against her, right below the waistline of her jeans because she was on her toes as tall as she could get. Simon was pressed against her front, one of his hands in the middle of her back, holding her closer to him. His other hand was holding hers again. Clary wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled against his lips. She loved this. She pulled his body closer to hers, kissed him harder.

His hand released hers, and both of his hands were at her hips. He lifted her onto the counter, making them suddenly the same height. When his mouth left hers and he started kissing her neck, her hands slid down his shoulders. His lips and teeth prodded the soft skin of her throat. Her heart felt like it was going to explode out of her chest. Simon tasted her collar, her chest. Then, his hands went up to cup her face, and his lips were back on hers, tasting her mouth and breath.

Their hands were all over each other, and just as Clary was about to suggest a change of location, the front door opened, and Jonathan was home.

Clary and Simon jumped apart. Clary crossed her legs up on the counter, while Simon stood two feet away trying to look innocent.

Jonathan's eyes went between them several times as he put the take-out bags on the counter. "Awkward," he half-sang. "Um, where-"

"Backyard," Clary said, a little too fast. "Training on his own. He should be nearly done."

"Good. Yeah. I'll be out there..." He cleared his throat, hesitated a moment, then headed for the back doors.

"It could have been worse," Simon said under his breath.

Clary rolled her eyes. "How?"

"He could have walked in on us in bed-"

She smacked his shoulder. "Shut _up_!"


	41. Chapter 41

_**A/N: THIS CHAPTER MARKS THE END OF 'BOOK ONE'! It's on the long side (you're welcome) and paves the way for the 'second book' to open. Let me know what I should call book 2! Or if you even want a book 2?**_

 _ **It will be made under a separate 'story,' so make sure you're following me so that you get an alert when I post the first chapter of the new book!**_

 _ **Thanks to everyone who has read, followed, favorited, and commented. I love you guys, and I hope you stick around to see what kind of trouble everyone gets into next!**_

Clary hugged her father longer and tighter than she knew was necessary. It wasn't like he was in any sort of danger or anything. She knew that he would mistake her affection as being for herself, and she wouldn't bother to correct him.

Today was the day. Today was Jocelyn's last day, and the first day that everyone else could truly rest easy. After today, Clary would only have one parent, one with enough love for two. She would be able to tell Simon everything. She would no longer have to worry. And for the first time since her mother had been woken from her magically-induced coma, Clary didn't feel even an ounce of guilt or indecision or sway of confusion. She was certain, and honestly just ready for it to all be over. She was tired of worrying that someone might slip around Simon, or living in fear that her mother might break free of the Silent Brothers, or that someone might let her out.

Clary wasn't worried about any of it today. No, she was worried about her father.

Clary had memories of being tortured and betrayed and hurt and lied to by her mother—more than anything, she wanted her gone. But her father? He had only her word to go on. Though there was no doubt he believed it, Clary still felt bad. Because of her, his wife was going to die today, and he had been called as a witness. He was going to watch his wife be killed for her crimes. Since Clary was a minor, she hadn't been asked to go, but she'd declined anyway.

Maybe it was stupid, but Clary wanted to ask her father to stay home. Some part of her was worried that watching his wife be executed would cause him to resent his daughter—though everything so far had only brought the two of them closer—he'd let her boyfriend move in and everything! He trusted her, he loved her. How could anything change that?

Even if Clary was basically pulling the trigger on her own mother.

"Are you staying in Idris for the night?" She asked now. They were standing in the rear courtyard of the New York Institute. The Portal hadn't opened yet, but everyone was still milling about, waiting on a few last-minute attendees. Jonathan and Simon were inside training with Jace and Isabelle. Across the courtyard, Clary saw Magnus Bane talking to Alec Lightwood—oh, wow, were they flirting?

"Most likely," Valentine said, nodding carefully. "But I'll send a fire message once it's done. I don't think I'll feel like traveling."

She smiled sadly at him. "I wouldn't either. But don't worry about us, okay, Dad?"

"You know I will anyway."

"Well, try not to. We'll be fine. Jonathan and I will fill Simon in, and start packing."

"Hey, Clary?" He sounded hesitant. "You got more of his things over Christmas, right? Simon?"

"Um, yeah. Why? He'll be going back to the Academy. We were going to move his stuff over there, remember? So that he could get settled again."

"Actually, I was thinking. The Academy is a great place to learn, but it's in awful repair—or so I've heard. And he's at a completely different level than everyone else there. I should have some words, but perhaps it might be best to, um, consider other means of learning—"

"Dad?" Clary interrupted, smirking but totally lost. He gave her a look, waiting for her to continue. "What are you trying to say?"

He took a deep breath. "Maybe Simon could continue to be trained by Jonathan and myself instead of going to the Academy."

She blinked at him once. Twice. A third time. "You want Simon to stay with us?"

His expression turned awkward and he looked away, placing a hand on the top of his head. "Maybe it would be best. Being as you two seem, uh, serious, I would feel better knowing that his training is thorough and sufficient. You know?"

"You want to know that he's able to protect me."

If it were possible, he would have looked more awkward, like he wanted to be anywhere but in the middle of the conversation he'd brought up. At the same time, however, he looked very determined. "Er, yes. Yes, that's exactly it." He continued to not look at her. "I mean, considering everything that's happened…I would feel better about it. I mean, it's ultimately a decision he would have to make himself, but I know that the Clave will have no objections."

"You want me to ask him, don't you?"

"Well, I would like to ask myself, of course, but if you could approach him with the idea…I'll ask when I return from Idris."

Clary smiled slightly. "You really like him, don't you?"

He looked further away, toward the far corner where Alec and Magnus Bane appeared to still be flirting. "I consider him to be a shadowhunter," he said. "And any man, or woman, of course, who would choose to leave mundane life for this…I have to respect them. In fact, I'd say that I respect Simon a great deal more than about half the Clave."

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"I didn't ask if you respect Simon. I asked if you liked him."

He shrugged. "I suppose I do."

In Clary's mind, that was a huge 'yes'. She grinned. "Me too."

He winked at her.

Maryse was suddenly in the courtyard with Isabelle beside her, both wearing pencil-skirt suits. "Are we all ready?" Maryse asked. There was a mumble affirmation. "Good. Mr. Bane?"

Magnus stepped forward and slightly to the side, his long legs easily taking him far enough away from Alec Lightwood that if Clary hadn't seen them together, she never would have guessed that they were. "Lady Lightwood," he smirked, clearly thinking he was both sly and hilariously captivating.

"If you'd please," she said tightly, gesturing to the massive stone wall that surrounded them.

He nodded and went toward the wall, all traces of enjoyment gone. "Everyone together, if you please."

Everyone pulled into groups of two or three in a line before Magnus, and Clary took the opportunity to hug her father once again.

"I'll see you soon, Dad," she said.

And then he was gone, crossed through the Portal, a few thousand miles away in Alicante.

"Stay strong," she whispered to the sparkling remains of the Portal as it closed.

Clary stood there for a long minute idly watching the few shadowhunters who still lingered. Alec was closer, talking with Isabelle and stealing glances at Magnus's back. Clearly, they were talking about him. The warlock was speaking in hushed tones to a shadowhunter Clary didn't know—either he was oblivious to the gossip or simply didn't care. Though clearly not wanting to he overheard, Magnus didn't look particularly stressed by anything. In fact, he looked more carefree than ever—clearly, he'd enjoyed his chat with the Lightwood.

"Are you okay?" Isabelle asked suddenly. Clary looked up and saw that the two Lightwoods were staring at her.

She blinked at them. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Isabelle shrugged. "You just looked weird for a second."

"You looked confused," Alec said, sounding more blunt that than the casual words should have allowed.

"I was just thinking."

"You were staring," Alec said. "Like, right through us."

Clary shrugged. "Lost in thought, I guess. I'm going to find Simon."

They gave her a weird look, but didn't stop her.

Simon was in the middle of sparring with both Jonathan and Jace when Clary stepped inside the training room, so she sat quietly on the bench against the wall, pulling her knees up to watch. Though she preferred training outside, the training room of the Institute felt like home. From her time training before recovering her memories and before Simon knew everything, she'd spent more than her fair share of time training here with the Lightwoods and Jonathan. She knew exactly what it felt like to fall from the rafters, how long it took for her feet to touch the floor—or, in the case of the earliest training, how long until the corded harness stopped her a few feet from the floor, hanging horizontally. She knew where the drafts were, the wall mounts that were wobbly, which shower in the adjoining locker room had the best pressure. She knew how high she could jump when fighting, and how high she needed to jump to grab a hanging rope—she also knew that exactly five of the dozens of ropes were designed as trick ropes, which would fall through when grabbed. Did the others know which ones? Did they know that there were only five?

"Hey, Clary," Simon huffed, suddenly falling onto the bench beside her. "I didn't see you come in."

She smiled sweetly at him. "You were busy. I would have said something, but Jace likes to attack when you're distracted."

Jace threw her a look. "It's usually part of the lesson. Besides, it often results is harder work. You can't ignore the facts, Clary."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Lightwood."

Jonathan sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Clary and handed Simon a bottle of water, which he began draining. "He's been doing really well," he told Clary. "He's still a little bit slow, but he can definitely hold his own."

"Good to hear." She smirked. "Maybe soon he'll be able to hold his own against me."

"You never know," he said carefully. "But I wouldn't bet on it."

"Hey!" Simon frowned. "I thought you said I was doing well!"

"You are," Jace interrupted, sitting beside Jonathan with his legs out. "But not well enough to fight Clary. Sorry."

Jonathan shrugged when Simon looked to him for affirmation. "It's true, Simon. Clary's wicked fast, super strong, and has had more intensive training than all of us. You remember how you were holding your own but still struggling?" He nodded. "Yeah, that's how _I_ am against Clary—and I'm more than qualified to train you." He shrugged. "I know you'll be great one day, but I don't think I know any shadowhunter as bad-ass as Clary."

She grinned at the boys. "I _am_ pretty great."

If Clary weren't as 'bad-ass' as Jonathan had said, she never would have seen him move—that's how fast he shot his hand out at her. But she did see him. And she was faster. He hadn't even tensed up until he was in full motion! Suddenly, Clary was on her feet, standing—crouching—on the bench beside Simon. Her brother was looking at her, shocked, his expression oddly funny. Without a single though, Clary kicked her foot out to hit the shoulder of his still-outstretched arm. He dipped sideways at the last second and reached up to grab her around the knee. His body went down, legs ready to kick himself up, and Clary was pulled off the bench and down. Her foot hit the floor just as Jonathan kicked himself up, so she lunged forward to roll away.

"What the hell?" Simon gasped, jumping to his feet. His eyes weren't fast enough to comprehend what had just happened. Clary imagined that all he'd seen was Clary sitting one second, and the next she was half a dozen feet away in a battle stance with her brother jumping up. Had he even felt the bench being jostled? Probably not.

Then Jonathan was in front of her, his hands like knives trying to strike her as instinct threw her body from side to side. Quickly tired of dodging, Clary dropped and kicked her brothers feet out. He crashed to the floor, but Clary's small victory was short-lived. Jace was suddenly there, using his whole body as a weapon. His arms flung at her, his kicks aimed at her shoulders. She threw herself into the heat of the fight she hadn't been expecting, wondering idly if this was meant to be for fun or to make a point. Regardless, Jonathan had recovered quickly, and had come up behind her. She knew neither would be taken by surprise so quickly by a drop-kick again, so she stayed up, defending herself from all sides, occasionally striking so fast that they didn't have time to block—the grunting that answered her hits were amazingly satisfying.

As fast as he'd joined, Jace was gone, leaving Clary to fight her brother. No longer distracted, she put her whole effort into taking Jonathan down. Still, from the corner of her eye, she made sure they weren't too close to walls, pillars, or equipment that Jonathan could use to his advantage. Where had Jace gone? She was too focused to care.

She became aware suddenly that Jace and Simon were nowhere to be seen. Had Jonathan noticed? His fighting expression was a wicked grin, and she couldn't tell if it was because she'd seen something she hadn't, or that he was merely enjoying herself.

Without warning, Clary dropped down to kick his feet out, but he still saw it coming and jumped into a backflip. In the split second that she wasn't in his vision, Clary jumped as high as she could—and managed to grab the edge of the rafter to pull herself up.

She looked around.

The sound of rope brushing against something made her turn around—just at Jace came flying at her with a metal staff. At the last possible second, she ducked sideways to avoid the staff, and flung herself backwards to avoid Jace. He landed on his feet on the rafter she'd been standing on, and Clary was a few rafters away, poised on the balls of her feet, ready to fight. Jace was tall enough that his shoulders brushed the ropes whenever he moves, ropes that Clary had to reach up for—and since Jonathan was just as tall as Jace, it would be almost impossible for him to sneak up on her without her hearing. Probably behind one of the many support pillars that dotted the room from floor to ceiling, she could hear weight shifting. Whether it was Jonathan or Simon or someone else, she couldn't tell, and didn't have time to think much more on it, as Jace was on her again. This time, the staff was aimed and poised to knock her feet out, held by a single hand as Jace jumped rafters, catching the ropes as a precaution—oh, so close! He'd almost grabbed a trick rope. Damn. That would have been great.

Clary jumped over the staff and grabbed a rope, using the momentum to swing herself forward by several rafters—they were spread about five feet apart, so it was certainly an achievement. It brought her closer to the pillar where she'd heard the wood creaking, and heard voices—Jonathan and Simon. Jace landed a few feet away on the same rafter as her and began attacking again, using two hands to maneuver the staff like a dual-wielder. She blocked each blow with her hands, feet, and forearms. She was going to be covered in bruises, but didn't care—she was, after all, in the thick of battle. She could feel it in her blood.

Tired of blocking the same moves over and over, she swung her hand down on the staff, breaking it in two. Though it meant Jace now had two weapons instead of one, it spiced things up. You could do a lot more when you had both hands to work with.

Jonathan came out of hiding then with a second staff, taking fighting stance behind her. She grinned. Two on one wasn't usually a fair game, but she was up to the task. She spun almost every other second, sometimes blocking Jonathan without looking. She knew his style, where he was going to aim. Jace was harder. She hadn't spent as much time sparring with him. But she was catching on quick. Jonathan tended to fight with textbook precision, while Jace seemed to like fighting dirty—aiming for the head and knees harder than anywhere else, going for her back when she was turned.

Within minutes, Jonathan had lost the staff to her, and Jace was using one half, having tossed the other over Clary's head in attempt to help her brother. At one point, mid-spin, she saw the boys both going for her at once. Grinning wickedly, she'd dropped between rafters, catching herself just in time to avoid going all the way down. She took a split second to appreciate the looks on their faces. From this angle, she could see Simon across the room, holding onto a pillar with one hand, watching them and looking worried. Had he been told to stay back and watch or was he meant to attack at some point too?

Together, Jace and Jonathan jumped back to the pillar behind Clary, ready to strike her before she could get back up. She tensed, watching their broken staff-halves flash.

She jumped up, hearing the splintering thump as the pieces dug into the rafter. Before the boys could do more, Clary reached up for the sixth rope from the nearest pillar, and stepped off the rafter. The rope was another sort of false, but instead of breaking off at three feet, it slid all the way to the floor.

But the boys were right above her without ropes, falling faster. The second her feet hit, she pitched forward and rolled, jumping again to stand, but a hand wrapped around her ankle, stopping her short. The hand pulled her backwards, causing her to fall, and before she could move, Jace was on top of her. He grabbed her wrists and tried to pin her.

For a split second, Clary's wrists were pressed tightly to the floor, but that fraction changed everything. One moment, she was having fun fighting, feeling the fire of adrenaline. But the second she was pinned, something happened. Suddenly, the adrenaline in her blood was icy splinters and her skin was like fire. All she could see was red. Her heart slowed. The base of her skull got tight and hot.

Then Jace was beneath her and she was hitting him, smashing her fists into him with no idea how hard she was hitting. She didn't care. Everything was red. She was on fire. She was freezing. She was fighting. Something hard knocked the air from her lung and she whirled around to strike it, not seeing or caring who it was. She heard her name but didn't care. A name being called wasn't a symbol of safety. She was in danger, under attack. She would not fail. She would not falter. Jace was still on the floor, writhing and bleeding.

Shadowhunters entered the room then.

Clary attacked.

She was shorter and faster and stronger. They never saw her coming. They were on the ground. _His_ face was behind her eyes and she felt her heart cringe. The red in her eyes became dark like blood, and she ran.

Suddenly, the adrenaline of battle vanished into something she hadn't felt in a long time. _Fear_. She reacted instantly.

Shadows moved across the elevator doors, and Clary ran right by. She door to the stairs opened and a black figure stood in it's wake. Clary turned the corner so fast that her feet skidded on the carpet, and she nearly fell over.

"Clary! Stop!"

She didn't know the voice, but she knew she had to get out. She couldn't let _him_ get her.

Her hands balled up into fists and her arms bent. She kicked off the floor as hard as she could, glancing sideways only for a second before the back of her shoulder hit the stained glass window she'd been about to pass. She'd seen the vague darkness of the roof below the window sloping down into the back courtyard and knew it was the only way.

"Clary!"

"No!"

The glass shattered and scattered around her, and she watched in slow motion as it rained down, singing as it came into contact with anything solid. She didn't notice she'd been cut until her shoulder hit the flat section of the roof. Her cry morphed into a growl as she rolled onto one knee, not once pausing, and pushed herself forward. For the smallest moment, she was weightless. Then her feet hit the ground hard, and she was running again, ignoring the shouts of her name behind her.

The crash through had been nothing compared to jumping off a three-story building, but she still felt glass in her shoulder and arm, in her knee and shin. She could feel herself bleeding. But she didn't stop. She ran through the gates of the Institute and up the street at top speed. Everything around her blurred. She'd never run so fast in her entire life.

The rune was just under his hairline at the base of his skull, and easy enough to break with the help of the Silent Brothers. As with any angelic rune, it could have been broken with a stele and the right rune, but they hadn't been willing to take chances because Simon was still by all rights a mundane. However, he had just the right amount of angel blood in him to allow the Mortal Sword to work. With a single swipe of the blade, the rune broke and bled. From behind, Jonathan dressed the wound. He could a sworn there were flecks of gold in the blood.

Five days.

It had been five days since Clary had snapped out of nowhere, took down a dozen shadowhunters, and ran away. Five days since she'd been seen. It had been five days since select shadowhunters had gathered in Alicante to witness the execution of Jocelyn Fairchild—five days since her body had suddenly disintegrated in a cloud of dust, which cleared to reveal the corpse of a young brunette who had been turned Forsaken, disguised with and animated by a dark magic spell. Her name had been Amanda Taylor. She was twenty-two.

For five days, every shadowhunter in the world had been on red alert, searching for Jocelyn Fairchild and Clary Morgenstern. With Jonathan's words to the Clave, the shadowhunters had been reminded to lookout also for Lucian Graymark.

The Silent Brothers had deemed it safe to cut the rune from Simon. Now done, it was safe to tell him everything. They needed his help. All shadowhunters on deck.

Valentine was working closely with the New York shadowhunters and Magnus Bane, hoping to pick up a trail that Clary had left behind or that her mother had left behind—or that anyone had left. Jonathan and Simon were tasked with searching the city, places that she may have gone.

And when night came at the end of every day, the three would return to the house outside the city and sit in silence as they ate.

"The tracking spells aren't working right," Valentine said suddenly on the fifth night without looking up. "Not ours and not the warlocks. They start to guide and then they fizzle out."

"What does that mean?" Simon asked carefully. "I mean…she's not—"

"No," he said. "She's not dead. We would know." He looked down. "I would know."

"Protections spell, maybe?" Jonathan said. "On both of them."

"Perhaps, but that would be black magic."

Jonathan gave him a look. "Jocelyn isn't beyond using dark magic, Father."

"I know. I just…"

"What?"

"I don't want to believe that she has her, Jonathan."

"Father…"

"The last time she took Clary, we didn't see her for four years and she didn't know who we were. She was tortured and advanced and experimented on. I can't believe that Jocelyn has taken her again."

"Father," Jonathan said softly, staring at his clenched fists. "Sometimes the darkest images inspire the greatest fight."

Valentine did look up then. "I know, son. I know."

"I don't want them together either," he sighed. "But knowing they might be…it makes me want to fight harder."

They continued the rest of their meal in silence.

Her head throbbed, pounding at the base of her skull with jagged, knife-like edges rimmed with fire and ice. Her skin was cold and clammy. In complete darkness, Clary couldn't tell if her eyes were open or closed. Everything was pain and darkness. She'd awoken to it, laying with her hands bound by tape in front of her. Her shoulders burned. She'd sat up as carefully as she could and raised her hands above her head, then slammed them down into her lap, causing the tape to snap. Though she couldn't remember, she knew she'd struggled against the restraints. Her wrists were scabbing, and the adhesive opened the wounds. Blood ran down her hands. Her AppleWatch was missing. Her knuckles felt bruised.

She remembered hugging her father, watching him step through the portal. She'd gone upstairs and watched Simon train with Jonathan and Jace…then she'd woken up in the dark.

Clary almost wished she could wonder where she was. Knowing was worse.

This darkness was all too familiar to her.

She was back in the basement of the safe house.

She could feel the old papers under her shift, and knew the place hadn't been touched since she'd left with Jocelyn to Miami, since her memories had been taken and that false life had begun.

Clary reached down and touched her ankles. Her stele was gone. She touched her sides. She was still wearing her shorts, but her phone was no longer in her pocket. Of course.

With no warning, the door at the top of the stairs opened. Knowing the light would quickly follow, Clary closed her eyes and jumped to her feet, ignoring the pain all through her body at the sudden movement.

"Ah. You're finally awake. Good."

It was _him_.

Even before he was halfway down the stairs, Clary could smell the wolf in him. She opened her eyes and saw him. Her vision rimmed red.

"Let me go," she said, voice low and scary even to herself. "The entire Clave is looking for me right now. When they find me, you'll be sorry."

He had the nerve to smirk at her. "Oh, I don't think they'll be finding you any time soon, Clarissa. That rune on your shoulder keeps their tracking spells from working."

She could see it out the corner of her eye. _Hide_. It wasn't angelic in the slightest, but she could read it. She could read any rune. As long as this one was untouched, nothing magical could find her—not even the strongest, blackest of dark magic could find her.

"How did you find me?"

"You can only unlock memories that you possess," he grinned. "I marked you the last time you were down here. You couldn't possibly have known. You were knocked out at the time."

The mark on her neck got hotter for a second before dulling again. Even without seeing it, she could read its meaning. _Find_. It was a rough translation, but she still understood. It was the same type of rune Jocelyn had forced from her for Simon, except this one could be controlled. All Lucian would have had to do was place a twin rune on himself to command her. Though she doubted it was the only dark magic up his sleeve, Clary was thankful that this one only worked once. She sensed no other runes on her body.

"So what do you want with me?" She asked, trying to sound both strong and bratty. If she could catch him off-guard, she could take him down. She'd been too scared in the past, but she could do it now. She had things to fight for. "Think that since Jocelyn is gone you can do whatever you want? Is that it?"

He barked a laugh that sent chills up her spine. "Gone? Jocelyn isn't gone."

Clary's eyes instantly focused on the darkness behind him at the top of the stairs. It detached from itself, and Jocelyn appeared wearing all black and a wicked grin.

"It's been a while, hasn't it, Clary?"

Her eyes widened and she stared in disbelief, stepping back slowly. Her foot caught on the mattress and she fell, pushing herself back against the wall and into the corner, shaking her head, not taking her eyes away for a second. "That's not possible," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Y-you can't r-really b-be here. You're d-dead!"

Jocelyn stepped around Lucian and descended the remaining stairs until she was a foot away from the edge of the mattress. Close up, Clary saw she was wearing gear.

"Clary, honey," she said gently, almost lovingly. "Did you really think it would be that easy?"

She took a step closer and Clary's hands shot out, pushing her mother to the mattress hard. Lucian was down the stairs in a second, and Clary tackled him to the ground. The back of his head made a knocking sound on the floor, but she didn't care. She swung her fists at his face as hard as she could, even when he stopped moving. When she heard the springs in the mattress squeak, she jumped back to her feet and made a run for the stairs. The door at the top was open. She ran through and slammed the door behind her, hitting her mother's outstretched hand and throwing her down the stairs. Clary snapped the light off, locked the door, and looked around. She barely recognized the place, but instantly knew where to go.

Her AppleWatch, cellphone, and stele were sitting on the kitchen counter. She picked up her phone. No signal. Not even a little bit. She cursed under her breath.

She saw the knives on the block across the kitchen and went to them instantly. She grabbed one and held it up for a long moment, staring at her bloodied reflection in it. Then, she pulled her hair up and, without hesitation, slashed once at the rune under her hair. Hissing at the pain, she almost dropped the knife. She bit her lip hard and raised the knife again, this time looking at her shoulder. Feeling the blood drip down her back, she slashed an 'X' across the rune. It flashed bright red before making a sizzling sound. The knife clattered when it hit the tiled floor. Blood began pouring down her arm.

A loud bang came from behind and Clary spun around, gasping. One of the hinges had been knocked loose from the basement door. Her eyes widened as a second blow from the other side loosened the bottom hinge.

She raced back around the counter and grabbed her things. With a split-second glance back at the door, she ran out the front. A shiny Honda was parked out front beside an old pick-up truck.

Powerlines ran away from the house along a gravel drive, and she followed it. It was hot, humid, and the air was still and sticky.

She'd barely reached the road when she faintly heard something crash, and knew that either Jocelyn or Lucian had escaped the basement—probably Jocelyn, Lucian having been most likely knocked out. She pushed herself even harder. She couldn't hear a single car, but knew that eventually she would find someone driving. Would they stop for a teenage girl covered in blood? How long would it take though? Blood was running freely down her arm and back, mingling with the sweat that came instantly with being outside. Definitely Florida—no wonder they hadn't stuck around.

"Clarissa!" Jocelyn's voice rang. "Clarissa!"

An engine started, and Clary's heart dropped so fast that her feet faltered. Her hands and knees scrapped the gravel, sending up a cloud of dust, choking her. Blood dotted the rocks. Hearing the tires behind her, she pushed herself up, still coughing, bleeding even more. How long would she be able to run? She couldn't out run a car, not with how much blood she was loosing. Could shadowhunters die of blood loss? The beginnings of light-headedness said they probably could. Unless she got an _iratze_ or a blood replenishment rune, she would pass out soon.

"Dammit," she cried, wiping tears from her cheeks with bloody hands.

She wasn't going to make it. She was starting to feel weak, and the car was catching up. She couldn't run as fast as she normally could. Her feet were threatening to trip, to give out. She could see the heat of the car behind her, hear the tires on gravel, and her mother behind the wheel honking.

Clary wasn't sure if it was her move or a result of tripping, but suddenly she wasn't running anymore, but falling. Tall grass rushed up as her feet stopped, and hot, swampy ditch water hit her outstretched hands. It soaked her shoes and clothes, mingled with the hot blood and sweat. It stunk like gator and Florida.

Somewhere above her, she heard the car stop, heard her mother screaming her name. She tried to get up, to crawl away, but her arms weren't working, and her legs weren't listening. She splashed into the water again, and this time, everything went black.

 _ **A/N: THIS CHAPTER MARKS THE END OF 'BOOK ONE'! It's on the long side (you're welcome) and paves the way for the 'second book' to open. Let me know what I should call book 2! Or if you even want a book 2?**_

 _ **It will be made under a separate 'story,' so make sure you're following me so that you get an alert when I post the first chapter of the new book!**_

 _ **Thanks to everyone who has read, followed, favorited, and commented. I love you guys, and I hope you stick around to see what kind of trouble everyone gets into next!**_


	42. Update

Dear Readers,

Thanks so much to everyone for your patience. Your wait has paid off! On my page you will find my newest story: Change of Heart, the long awaited sequel to Change of Faith.

Leave a comment there to let me know your theories on upcoming events, changes you want to see, and how excited you are to find out what happens next!

Yours,

Thisbe


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